


So Simple

by NotTasha



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 16:16:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5297915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotTasha/pseuds/NotTasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris throws Ezra out of town in order for him to join a gang of bad guys.  It should have been a simple plan but things don't always work out the way you want.  All the boys play a part in this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Simple

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMERS: This is fanfiction. No profit involved. Who in their right mind would pay me anyway? It is based on the television series "The Magnificent Seven". No infringement upon the copyrights held by CBS, MGM, Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp. or any others involved with that production is intended.  
> RATING: PG-13 for Language and Violence  
> MAJOR CHARACTERS: Ezra, Chris and Everyone.  
> SUMMARY: Ezra and the others have a fairly straightforward plan, but nothing is every as easy as you think it'll be.  
> DATE: Originally posted October 20, 2001  
> \

Part 1:

"Did you hear me?"

"You were more than clear. Clear as glass."

"Then, why the hell are you still here?"

"Attempting to leave, sir. If you'll allow me to mount, I'll be on my way." The horse stood still as the man easily climbed into the saddle; its head was down and its brown eyes kept watch on the other man. The rider took his time as if there was no trouble to concern him.

A crowd had begun to build. People stopped on the street, or exited their businesses and stood on the boardwalk. They gaped at the proceedings.

"It's hard enough keeping this place safe from the garbage I can see. I don't need you stabbin' me in the back."

"You can rest assured, sir, that I'll trouble you no longer. This town has done little to improve my financial status. It's time that I departed to more favorable conditions." The gambler settled in the saddle and stared down at the man in black.

Larabee glared fiercely as he chewed at his cheroot. "You've run your last con against decent folk. You've stolen your last dollar."

Standish snorted. "Stolen? There's nothing of worth to take. I'm certainly not paid a valid salary for my time. A dollar a day hardly covers the cost of my handkerchiefs."

"You've never been worth any damn dollar. Hell, I wouldn't give two-bits for you." Larabee slashed his hand for emphasis. The horse flattening its ears and his rider sat stiffly.

Larabee stepped forward. "I should've known you would turn tail and run. You would've given up this town to save yourself."

"You're right; I look out for myself," the gambler stated, turning his horse around in a tight circle to draw him a short distance from the gunslinger. He regarded the crowd as he was spun about, as the horse minced its feet.

The stage was about to leave town, and the passengers stood waiting, watching the show, smiling in amusement. Townspeople looked on with various expressions of shock, dismay, disgust, and vindication.

He spotted the other men whom he worked with. Josiah and Nathan were near the church. The preacher was gazing away, unable to even look at him. Nathan glared daggers, as he clutched a literal one in his hand. Vin was outside the hardware store, watching and waiting for the outcome of the encounter, grasping his rifle. Buck and JD stood behind Larabee, just outside the jail. Both had their guns ready, displaying them as talismans against the gambler.

Standish gestured. "As you can plainly see, I'm the only one who will watch out for me. They'll all back you without question. They'll shoot me down if I were to make one movement toward you. There's no one to back me -- not here and now, not then. You'd just as soon I died out there."

Larabee pulled the mangled cheroot from his mouth and spat out, "At least you might have died for somethin'. When I gave the order, I expected it to be followed. I didn't expect you to come back here and start up a god-damn game!"

Ezra spread his arms in exasperation. "I could've been killed. You sent us to surround the outlaws, but Mr. Tanner was assigned a protected route. I was sent into the open. Those rustlers were as good as caught, in any case. Sending me in as fodder for their guns seemed unhealthy from my perspective. You managed to kill them all quite neatly without my help. You didn't need me. You have never needed me for anything. I know where the best profit lies. I'm not a fool, Mr. Larabee."

"Money is the only thing you give a damn about. You'd sell your mother for a dollar. You'd give up your soul for less. I doubt you even have one anymore."

Ezra smiled thinly. "I suspect not," he returned. "If it were possible to make a profit from such an insubstantial thing, you'd rest assured that I'd have tried it. But who would buy?"

"Get out of here, Standish. You're useless. I can't stand the sight of you anymore."

"I shall long rue the day I ever set sight on this paltry excuse for a backwater…"

"Goddamn it, Standish, are you deaf?" Larabee's voice rose as he strode forward. "I don't give a damn what you think. Get out of this town and never show your worthless face here again!"

"Your wish shall be granted," Ezra said with a curt nod. "I'm no longer a friend to this town. I shall go." Their eyes met, narrowed and intense. They stared wordlessly for a moment and Standish looked away. With a flick of the reins, he brought Chaucer to a jog, heading out of town. He glanced at the faces of the people he passed, noting the amused, hateful, annoyed, frightened, saddened expressions.

Mr. Conklin shouted as he passed, "That's right! Get the hell out of here! We don't want your type in this good town!"

A young man threw something at Standish, missing his hat by a few inches. Ezra ducked his head into his collar.

Tanner was the last man Ezra paid attention to. The tracker's face was still, his mouth set in a straight line. Their eyes met for a few seconds, before Ezra turned and faced the open land.

Standish brought his horse to a stop not far from the tracker and turned in his saddle. "You'll regret this Larabee, if you live that long." The young hooligan picked up another clod of dirt. This one struck Standish in the shoulder. Ezra didn't look at him, as the clod disintegrated and discolored his jacket. He brought his heels sharply against the horse's belly. It snorted in surprise and then took off at a gallop.

Larabee dashed his destroyed cheroot to the ground, turned on his heel and immediately entered the jail, closely followed by Buck and JD. Nathan and Josiah headed their way immediately.

 

Part 2:

A loud murmur arose in the street. Several people were laughing, a few were exchanging money, others stood in frightened and bewildered silence. The passengers finally boarded the stage, shaking their heads and speaking in low voices. The vehicle started out of town, following the same general path that the departing gambler had chosen.

Vin remained on the boardwalk, watching until Ezra disappeared from sight, listening remotely to the voices around him.

"Should'a kicked that gambler out of here months ago. I knew it was trouble havin' that conman pretending to be a peacekeeper."

"We need some decent lawmen in here. This just proves that what we got ain't any better than outlaws."

"Good for you, Tanner. Keep an eye out. Make sure he don't turn around and come back. Shoot him if he turns around."

"I never would've believed it. How could that happen?"

"But, I thought… I thought he was a good man…"

"Poor Mr. Standish."

"Damn that Standish!"

"It wasn't fair."

"That wasn't right."

"Will he come back?"

"Doubt it. Would you?"

"He promised me he'd show me some tricks… he promised…"

"Ah gee, I'm gonna miss that guy."

"Mama, why was Mr. Larabee so mad at Ezra?"

"I don't know, honey. Let's go home. I really need to get home."

Conklin was crowing with glee at the day's outcome. Mrs. Potter had shooed her children inside her store at the start of the conflict. She returned to the street and was looking about miserably, worriedly. She seemed as if she wanted to say something to Tanner, but couldn't bring herself to move. Mary stood at the doorway to the Clarion, wiping her hands on a cloth, looking at Vin in astonishment. She seemed to know better than to interrupt immediately. That would come in time. Inez glared and made a movement toward him, but Mary halted her progress.

Vin's eyes were on the departing horseman. Standish never slowed and, very soon, he became tiny in the open land -- just a colored spot in the bleak country. From time to time the traveling stage would obscure Tanner's view and Ezra would disappear prematurely. It was if the benign transport were chasing him down. But as the vehicle wended its way, the gambler would become visible, if only momentarily, until the stage obliterated the view again.

Finally, once Ezra had completely disappeared from sight, Tanner left his position and sauntered slowly down the street. The townspeople watched him in a strange form of awe, but nobody spoke a word to him. He made his way to the jail and pushed open the door.

The room was dim. The shades had been drawn and the men who occupied the room were somber. Vin shut the door behind him and locked it.

"Is he gone?" Nathan asked without raising his head.

"Yup," Vin replied.

"Good," Nathan responded softly, nodding to himself. "Good."

"Any problems?" Josiah asked.

"Nope," Vin said with a shrug.

"They get a good eyeful?" Buck added.

"Seen and heard plenty, that's for sure," Vin replied.

"They sure seemed interested. Creel and Ludlow got off the stage and everything to hear it all," JD stated, his eyes bright with excitement. He moved about nervously in the cramped room. "It sure was a show! Think they believed it?"

Vin nodded. "Seemed to."

"Is he's gonna be all right?" Josiah put in, looking worriedly to the tracker.

Vin shrugged again. "You know Ezra."

They nodded and muttered in the dim jailhouse.

Vin looked toward Chris who stood in the shadows, leaning against the filing cabinets. Tanner moved across the room and came to rest beside his friend. Larabee's eyes were focused on the shaded window, following the hidden path that the gambler had taken.

"He'll be okay," Vin said quietly. "It'll work out."

"Damn well better," Larabee muttered.

Maxwell Creel had a gang that operated from somewhere outside Ridge City. He had never been arrested -- or at least never convicted -- but he was suspected of being the brains behind several violent robberies in the area. There seemed to be a malicious glee in those robberies, those murders. Rumors were flying that Creel was planning to hit the bank in Four Corners next. He wanted to try the lawmen of that town -- the legend that surrounded the seven men had intrigued him -- the supposed richness of the bank sealed the deal.

The peacekeepers of Four Corners had to get a man close to Creel, to clarify the information they'd been receiving. It was decided that Ezra would be the best man for the job, what with his abilities to blend in with any company.

When they received word that Creel would be traveling by stage through their town, they started coming up with ideas and finally settled on a plan. Creel knew Standish was one of the lawmen -- that tie had to be severed if their idea was to work.

As the lawmen were planning what to do about the situation, a group of rustlers made their ill-fated visit to the area. It couldn't have come at a more opportune time for the peacekeepers. 

Chris and the others had attempted to bring the rustlers back alive, but it was not to be. There was a stupid streak in those would-be outlaws. They died despite the fact that the lawmen offered them their lives for their surrender. The seven men, in a coordinated effort, took down the rustlers.

Out in the middle of nowhere, with no witnesses outside of the buzzards, the lawmen could reinvent the proceedings. A story was decided -- the events changed for the benefit of their ruse. Ezra returned to town first; the others followed a few hours later with the bodies and started spinning tales -- Standish had run out on them, again -- Standish had left them high and dry and open to attack – Standish had almost gotten them all killed.

Ezra would be thrown out on his coat tails, in plain view of Creel and his men. From that point, he would have to work his way into Creel's good graces. He would live with the gang and deliver information via coded telegrams to the town. Creel and his men would be stopped before the gang ever reached Four Corners. No one would get hurt. The town would be kept safe.

And then Ezra would come back.

It would be so simple.

"He'll be okay," Vin reiterated.

"Yeah," Buck confirmed. "He's got more tricks than a coyote. Don't need to worry about Ezra."

"You're right, brother," Josiah said with a small smile. "I'm certain that Ezra will come out of this smelling like a rose."

Nathan snorted and grinned. "Probably will manage to make a profit, too."

"That'll make him happy," JD joined in.

But Chris continued to stare at the closed shade. Out beyond that window, a man rode alone -- just Ezra – riding into who-knows-what.

"Whoo-nelly," Buck uttered with a chuckle. "You sure let loose some powerful words, Chris. I bet there ain't a person in town who doubts what you said." Buck nodded and Chris dropped his gaze for a moment. "Ya did a good job at that. Ezra'll have no trouble gettin' in with Creel now."

"Should've done it differently," Chris muttered.

"He's a big boy," Buck responded, understanding what Chris was getting at. "He knows it's all part of the game."

"It needed to be done," Josiah rumbled softly. "We had to make it obvious to Mr. Creel that Ezra was an enemy of this town."

"Yeah," JD said with a quick nod. "Creel will be beggin' Ez to join up with him, just to get at all the stuff he knows about Four Corners."

Chris rubbed the corners of his mouth. Those indifferent green eyes had met his, and Chris had seen it… under the coolness, beneath the callous demeanor, he had struck a nerve and mangled it. He had taken every fear and uncertainly that the conman harbored, and brought it forward in crystal clarity.

There should have been another way to do this.

Chris turned to each of his remaining men, seeing various forms of conviction. They were ready for this fight, even if most of it was to be fought without them. Finally, he met Vin's eyes and realized that the tracker had seen it, too. When Vin said, "He'll be okay," for the third time, Larabee knew that Tanner was saying it to convince himself, not just Larabee.

"I'm sure he's heard most of it before," Nathan said with a shrug. "It's not as if you said anything new to him."

Larabee looked sharply at the healer and couldn't find words to say.

"I mean," Nathan tried, seeing the accusation in Chris' glare, "He's run a con or two. He knows how to play a part."

"He'll be back soon," Buck added. "You'll see. He'll let us know what Creel is up to and he'll give us the warning we need. We'll get that bastard locked up without anyone gettin' hurt."

Chris returned his gaze to the shaded window.

"He'll be back in no time at all," Buck stated.

It was two months before they saw Ezra Standish again.

 

Part 3:

Creel was a cautious man. Yes, he was a criminal, capable of great violence, but he was cautious as well. His earlier strikes on nearby towns were carried out with precise planning. 

The problem was there was no proof. He hid himself too well, killed too many and left no witnesses. Local peacekeepers had been unable to locate his hideout. He appeared when he wanted to and brought nothing more than suspicious conjecture about him. Suspicion doesn't put one behind bars.

Ezra was admonished to be careful – don't rock the boat – maintain a low profile. These were dangerous me who had killed before and would kill again.

"I mean it, Ezra," Chris had said in a low growl. "Don't cause any trouble. Too much rides on this." Ezra had saluted him, which was as close as Larabee could come to receiving an agreement from the southerner.

The evening following Ezra's dismissal, he sent a telegram from Ridge City to cancel his subscription to the Clarion -- that was his notice of safe arrival in town. 

The peacekeepers had ordered Mr. Juje, the telegraph operator in Four Corners, to turn over any correspondence received from Standish. The telegraph operators in Ridge City were another story. They were a mangy lot without confidentially or well-defined morals. It was suspected that they often passed information to Creel and it would be dangerous to use their services -- dangerous unless the messages went out cloaked in code.

After nearly a week away, Ezra broke his lease with the livery. This telegram was notice that everything was on track, but nothing new had happened. The messages were noted by the lawmen, and then handed off to whom they were addressed. The subscription was cancelled; the lease was broken. The stall in the back corner was quickly snatched up by the lawmen, who utilized it to store their tack.

Then, ten days after he had ridden out of town, Standish sent word that the contents of his room were to be boxed up and shipped to Ridge City. He was giving up the room. Contact had been made -- Standish was now employed by Creel. There was a small celebration in the Four Corners jail. Buck rented the emptied room, as well as his own, saying that he sometimes needed to juggle his visitors.

Four days later, the livery received another message from Standish, asking that his tack box be sent. The men looked for certain words and counted certain letters. They now knew the general location of Creel's camp. They were told it was too risky to attempt an attack there -- Creel was too well settled, the place too well guarded.

They should sit-tight and wait for a better opportunity. They should wait until Creel was in their territory, where they'd have the advantage. Creel was biding his time and no attack date had been decided yet.

There was no correspondence for some time after that. They waited.

Twelve days after the last message, Standish sent a wire to Mrs. Potter, asking for the name of the tea that she had special ordered for him, and requesting the address where he should send his future requests. The note stated, in its oblique fashion, that Creel and the others were leaving the vicinity and would return in a week or so. Standish would contact them again when he could. 

Mrs. Potter returned the message promptly, with the information he requested and a note concerning her dissatisfaction with the way the town was being run. She was a fine and understanding woman who always had a soft spot for the well-mannered southerner, but she didn't have a way with words. The message sounded like a scolding instead of consolation once it was written out for transmission.

It was quiet again after that.

Thus, the first month passed.

Another ten days went by before the next telegram arrived. The latest message was again addressed to his former landlady, Mrs. Tull, inquiring about some items that were missing from the boxes that had finally arrived in Ridge City. It often took an inordinate amount of time for large packages to travel that distance. Ezra let them know that the attack was planned the following week. There would be fourteen men involved. It would be dangerous. Word would be sent once the day was set. 

"Be careful," was spelled out using the first letters of the last sentence of the note.

Mrs. Tull sent back a curt note, telling Mr. Standish that she had taken nothing outside of what she felt was owed. The lawmen retrieved several items from Mrs. Tull and stored them away as evidence.

A terse note arrived eight days later, addressed to Larabee. The obvious content was concerned with certain slanderous statements that Standish had heard in Ridge City. Beneath the indignant words was the caution that the attack had been delayed. A large payroll was due to hit the bank and Creel was determined to wait.

Six days later another admonishing message was received, again to Larabee. The gang had increased to twenty; they would arrive in five days. They would come from the north, would stop at Nelson's Pond. They were planning to arrive in town in that evening, after the payroll had arrived but before it was shelled out the next day. They'd dynamite the vault, the bank, and anything that got in the way. They weren't to let it get that far -- Larabee and the others should ambush them at Nelson's Pond. "Until Then" was spelt out this time.

It was a long two months.

 

Part 4:

Ezra made his way through the main street of Ridge City. The town was rather quiet; the next train wasn't expected until tomorrow and the train town had emptied. The quiet was appreciated and the gambler figured that several of the better hotels once again had vacancies. He toyed with the idea of moving into one of them, never really considering it.

No, he had to get back to Creel's camp, back to a cold bedroll and terrible food, back to the scrutiny of Red-Eye and the distrust of all.

As he walked through the town, he realized that he'd sent his last telegram from this place. There would be no further delays. There'd be no need to alert Larabee again. Creel was anxious to get to that money and didn't want to wait any longer. Standish sighed, wanting the same thing.

He couldn't quite explain his emotions. He was confident. He realized that his warnings would bring the others, that they would be waiting exactly where he asked. The lawmen of Four Corners had the upper hand, even though they were outnumbered. They would be successful.

But still, he worried. What if JD or Nathan or Buck were hurt during the operation? What if Vin or Josiah or Chris were injured? What if they all failed and left the town open for attack. He shook his head as he walked. No, that wouldn't happen. They would succeed. Failure was out of the question.

He paused when he reached the end of the block and leaned against the dry good store. Red-Eye Ludlow would be somewhere nearby. The big overman was gathering supplies and would probably be done by now. The gambler exhaled slowly, not looking forward to meeting up with "Red-Eye" or to the ride back to camp, helping to protect the goods. Ludlow was a most… disagreeable man.

Red-Eye, apparently, had decided to make life as unbearable as possible for Standish. He had been a witness of the gambler's public shaming, and never missed an opportunity to remind him that he was not to be trusted, that he was tossed out on his ass, that he was not worth anything.

Resting heavily against the building, Standish felt a weariness grasp him. He wasn't used to sleeping out of doors for so long a time at a stretch – but it wasn't just that which robbed him of his sleep. Constantly on the watch, he'd felt too stressed to sleep or eat much of anything.

Ludlow seemed to delight in finding fault in everything he did and was always ready to find some new flaw to worry. The constant barrage of animosity was taking a toll on the gambler.

Tugging at his jacket, he realized it was now an ill-fit. He contemplated visiting a local tailor to resize the fine garment, but discarded that idea. Usually, he'd be concerned about looking his best – appearances are everything -- but, recently, he had fallen into a mire of despondency. He just didn't care one way or another. Right now, the only thing he wished for was that this thing would end, that Creel and Red-Eye and all his men were behind bars.

The stories he had heard around the campfire sickened him. How could these men eat while discussing the horrible deaths of innocents? They had killed and would kill again. They had discussed it all in vivid and excited detail. No wonder he'd had no appetite, no wonder he was growing thinner. He pressed his head against the building and closed his eyes. No wonder he was tired.

"Standish!" A voice sounded near him. Ezra sighed and opened his eyes. He really didn't need this right now. "Standish? You haven't gone yet?"

Ezra straightened, pulling his jacket into shape and facing the approaching man. "Mr. Conklin," he greeted graciously. "How good to see you again. It's been nearly a week since our last encounter near this spot."

The man, a long-term resident of Four Corners, stalked up to him. "I thought I told you last time I saw you, we don't want you here."

Ezra smiled. "But, sir, I'm nowhere near your fair town. What harm could I possibly be doin'?"

"Plotting, scheming, planning," Conklin replied. He narrowed his beady eyes and stated, "I know you're staying nearby so you can cause trouble. I know your type, Standish. You want revenge on that Larabee. You want to take him down." He stepped closer to Standish and the gambler rolled his eyes, wanting to be away from this man. "I may not look like much, but I'll keep you from my home with ounce of strength in my body," Conklin said in a low voice.

"I don't doubt you, but I have no time for discussion." The way he was feeling right now, Standish figured that Conklin might be right about who the victor would be. "I have someone I must meet. Now, if you'll excuse me." It would do no good to be seen with someone from Four Corners. He'd have to leave Conklin behind before Ludlow caught up with him.

"It's Creel that you're meeting, isn't it? Or one of his men?" Conklin inquired, thumping Standish with his finger. "I saw you with him last time I was in town. He's a vicious criminal and you're courtin' the devil by bein' with him -- not that that's anything new to you. You've been in league with wickedness all your life."

Ezra sighed, brushing away Conklin's offending arm. "In league? Perhaps, but she was my mother after all. There was little I could do."

"I know exactly what you're up to!"

"And what would that be, sir?"

"You going to get your revenge on Larabee by hurting us fine folk." Conklin jutted out his jaw. "Well, I can tell you right now, we won't let you anywhere near our home. We're good people. We don't want the likes of you anywhere near us."

"Is that so?"

Conklin grinned. "You should have seen it, Standish. The moment you left town, a celebration started. People came from everywhere, cheering Larabee and the others, glad to be rid of you. Those lawmen were at the saloon all night after they kicked you out, drinking and laughing," he stated darkly. "I heard Dunne saying that he was glad you were gone because you were nothing but trouble to him, confusin' him about right and wrong. The darky said he was sick of you and your ways and never thought you were any good. Wilmington said you were a joke and Sanchez was laughing about you. He just laughed and laughed." He paused. "Tanner cursed your name and Larabee told anyone who'd listen that he wished he never let you join them. I heard him say that he wished he'd sent you packing on that first day."

"Please, Mr. Conklin, I have no time for this," Standish returned.

The well-regarded townsperson continued, hoping to strike a chord. "They played poker all night long. I kept hearing them say that they could finally play fair without your cheating ways."

Standish smiled. "That's quite possible," he commented. "Their pockets must be somewhat fuller than they'd been in the past." Still, Ezra felt as if the blood had left his face. He kept his hands at his side and his expression as pleasant as possible.

Conklin thumped the pariah again with one digit. "Not a soul in town could find a good word to say about you. Four Corners is a decent place, Standish, and might finally have a chance of becoming something worthwhile now that you're out of there."

"That's quite possible," Ezra responded, keeping a smile on his face. "I always felt that Four Corners held a great potential."

Conklin sneered. "We'd all been waiting for that day, you know – waiting for Larabee to kick you out of our home – or kill you. Glad I lived to see it. Stay away from our town, Standish. You aren't wanted."

Ezra watched Conklin stalk away. A man snickered as he walked past, obviously having heard part of the conversation. He leaned against the building again, feeling tired beyond words. Five more days, he thought woefully, and it will be done.

He kept still, letting the sun attempt to warm him, until a surly voice called out, "Standish! Get your worthless ass over here." Ezra sighed and looked up, catching sight of Ludlow and two of his henchmen. The big blond scowled at him.

Back to work, Ezra thought and strode toward them.

 

Part 5:

JD nervously paced outside the jail, trying to look calm, trying to behave as if everything was normal. Today was the day. Today, they'd complete the mission they'd started over two months ago. Today, they'd get Ezra back. Today, Creel would come with his gang of twenty men to try to dynamite the jail's vault. The gang had planned to kill anyone who got in their way. Those men would never get that far.

JD was ready, at least he hoped he was. He hoped they all were ready for this.

Well, of course they were ready. They were the lawmen of Four Corners! They were ready for anything.

He rubbed his hands together, remembering the first time he'd fought beside Chris and the others, the odds had been worse. They had been up against forty that time. Twenty? They could take on twenty easily.

He was eager to see Ezra. Two months had been an awful long time and he had missed the fun-loving cardsharp. They hadn't contacted him at all following his dismal from town. They couldn't -- it was safer that way for him. JD had suggested they had a good reason to send him a wire when Ezra had started baiting Chris with his messages -- maybe they could send some words of encouragement, but Larabee stuck to his guns and the silence continued.

'Doesn't seem right, somehow,' JD thought as he moved through the street. 'Seems kinda sad that he's out there alone and we can't even say "Hey".'

Dunne walked toward the livery and nodded to Chris who was exiting the restaurant, heading in the same direction. Josiah and Nathan were already preparing the horses. Buck and Vin would be here shortly. They'd meet those men outside of town, before they had a chance to enter the streets of Four Corners -- they'd take them on at Nelson's Pond.

JD passed a man who watched him intently. Things had felt so strange since Ezra left town -- since he was thrown out. Everything felt… odd. The people on the street treated him differently. Some looked disgusted, some were saddened, others -- only a few -- seemed overjoyed and still others watched with a sense of foreboding about them -- as if they had seen the first fall and now were expecting the next.

Many people were upset. They had come to him, begging for an explanation. They had been ready to back the gambler, telling JD of the good Ezra had done for them, telling him that maybe a mistake had been made, maybe Ezra'd had a good reason for returning early and nobody had realized it yet.

Several of the town folk told him that Ezra never really explained himself very well and often left out major details to his detriment. They'd insisted that JD find out the whole story. It made the young sheriff smile to note that so many people were willing to believe in the wily cardsharp -- that so many people tried to understand the incomprehensible man -- that so many were ready to give him the benefit of a doubt.

It was hard to return their kind entries with indifference. The six lawmen had to stand together in their conviction – Ezra was an enemy of the town – not to be trusted. They had to speak ill of him, to protect him, but the words were often difficult to speak.

In spite of those who believed in Ezra, a few had been quite content with what had happened. Conklin seemed especially happy to see the gambler shamed publicly. It had surprised JD that this opinion existed in the town. It made him wonder about those wires that Ezra had sent to Chris. Had Ezra actually been hearing these rumors? Were the telegrams true?

All of the other message that Ezra had sent, despite the coded meanings, had been essentially true. Dunne rubbed his forehead as he reached the livery.

Josiah and Nathan both voiced a greeting to him as he entered. They were nearly ready to go, and were only waiting for the others to arrive before hitching up the wagon horses. Buck and Vin were still gathering supplies and would be there shortly. They'd set up at Nelson's Pond and wait. They'd keep the town safe. They'd take these men down.

Josiah nodded as Chris came in behind JD.

"Nathan, Josiah," Larabee said, nodding to his men. "JD, you ready?"

"Sure, Chris," JD answered quickly. "Been ready for weeks now. Want to get this done and get Ezra back with us."

"Lord, I've missed that swindler," Josiah said with a sigh. He kept his eyes on the horse, not wanting to reveal the sadness of his eyes. night, he lit a candle for the cardsharp's safe return and said a prayer to whatever saint might listen. He had waited in dread during the long pauses between messages and had exalted when word was received – he's still there. Now, to just get him back into the fold. That lost sheep had been wandering loose for too long.

Nathan chuckled. Yes, he had missed Standish as well. He, despite their sometimes-prickly relationship, truly liked the southerner and enjoyed his company. "I'll be glad to get him back. It just doesn't seem right without him." 

"Matter of hours now," Chris replied tersely. Nathan was right. It hadn't been the same here without their gambler. Everything seemed quieter, more subdued. The saloon was less boisterous; their meetings were more solemn. When trouble erupted, they missed the glib comments and amused expressions of their friend.

Chris even missed the irritation that Standish could generate. So often, Ezra had been able to redirect a charged situation with a few carefully chosen complaints. Without that gadfly to change the thrust of things, every problem seemed blown out of proportion. 

The past months had been difficult for the man in black. The women of the town had let him know what they thought of the whole 'Ezra' situation. They all had their own ways of delivering their message.

Mary was straightforward, striding into his jail and blaring out her concerns shortly after the incident. It only took a few words to remind her that Ezra's errant behavior had endangered the whole town -- her son included. Chris had seen her waiver in her conviction. Finally, almost reluctantly, she agreed that it was best that Standish was gone. But, she printed no story about the incident in her paper. She figured that everyone in town already knew what had happened, and nobody outside needed to know.

Larabee had duly noted that Billy no longer watched him with his child-like awe. Young Travis now stood back and watched in dread as the man in black walked the street. To his young mind, if a grown man, as smart as Mr. Standish, could fail so badly and get yelled at and kicked out of town, what chance did a boy have?

Inez hadn't been convinced by Larabee's argument that Ezra had endangered the town. She had stormed at the gunslinger when he entered her saloon, spitting out quick insults in English and Spanish, slamming down plates and spilling drinks. She had cooled over time, but a fire still burned in her eyes when she saw him, and Larabee no longer frequented her saloon. He didn't need the added stress or increased laundry.

Gloria Potter was subtle. When he entered her store, she'd cast her eyes downward and hardly spoke a word to him. She'd chat openly with anyone else in the store, but when she turned to Larabee, her words would be nothing more than a quick 'yes' or 'no'. She was always out of the things that he wanted. On the rare occasions when their eyes met, Chris saw only disappointment and sorrow in her eyes. Her children, Paul and Katie, hid from him. He could hear them whispering fearfully from beneath the counters of the store.

Even Mrs. Combe at the restaurant seemed less than pleased with him. She never made her apple dumplings anymore.

Nettie Wells just shook her head and tsked when she heard the news as if she'd expected something like this all along – or maybe she'd just dreaded it. Her niece had stood bravely, listening to the explanation of the events, her eyes growing moist with tears. She turned away finally from him and looked to JD, her eyes wide and pleading, looking for a different answer from the young sheriff.

JD had taken her aside later, and explained it again, not looking at her, letting Casey know that Ezra wasn't worth the tears -- that he had abandoned them all and deserved his fate. Casey hadn't spoken to him much since then and Nettie kept her close to home.

Four Corners just didn't seem right. Chris could feel it every day as he walked the streets. People avoided him like the plague, stepping quickly to get out of his way. They had seen the way that he'd verbally attacked one of his own men for stepping out of line, and nobody wanted to try him.

At least the townspeople were safe – the town would be protected from Creel's rampage.

Chris had wanted to get some sort of a message to Ezra as JD had suggested, but they had decided that complete silence on their part would be best. It would keep the conman safe. Ezra was in the pocket of the enemy and needed nothing that would give him away. What good would a few words in a telegram do anyway?

Larabee wondered how Ezra was doing. It had been an awful long two months from Larabee's point of view; he wondered how long it had seemed to Standish.

Larabee sighed as he pulled his saddle from his place. He looked toward the stall at the back of the livery. A pile of unused tack filled it now, instead of the intelligent, maddening chestnut gelding. Chris could almost hear Ezra's honeyed voice, speaking softly to his overindulged horse, scratching its ears and bribing it with peppermints or apples. 'Chaucer doesn't need the bribes, Ezra,' Larabee thought.

But that was Ezra. Unable to explain the abiding loyalty of the animal, he called it an expected response to his bribery. He never could understand how something would be so devoted to him.

Yes, Larabee could almost envision Ezra at that rear stall, further spoiling his horse, getting his clothing nipped and yanked, nearly crushed against the far wall for his trouble, quipping to the others, lightening the heaviness of the situation, trying to set everyone at ease. They truly needed that right now.

'We'll getcha back home,' Chris promised silently. 'I owe you a drink or two. Get this town straightened out again. Put everything right.' 

The hurt look in Ezra's eyes still bothered him. Ezra realized that it was all for show, didn't he? He had to know that the argument needed to sound valid…that the points cited had to seem legitimate. Ezra realized that he hadn't meant any of it, didn't he?

Damn it all!

Chris had known exactly what to say to the cardsharp to hurt him most. He had pulled the knives that would cut deepest, and flung them to their targets. Why had he used those particular words? -- because he knew that they would work so damn well. It was easy to question Ezra's loyalty, it was easy to attack his morals, it was easy to bring up those things that should have been forgiven.

'Sorry about that, Ezra,' he thought. 'I'll make it up.' 

He checked his guns and wondered what Ezra was doing at that moment.

 

Part 6:

Ezra tipped his head against the dust churned up by the other horses. Chaucer snorted unhappily and Ezra let him fall back a few paces to escape the cloud without any success. He coughed and squinted, trying to keep the dirt from his eyes. 

The worst part about traveling with twenty other men -- barring the whole sanitary issue -- was the amount of dust that such a mob could create.

He was feeling poorly and the added dust wasn't helping. He coughed again and looked up to see Red-Eye falling back in the group and glaring at him in disgust. Ezra touched the brim of his hat and smiled at the reprobate.

"Yer fallin' behind!" Red-Eye bellowed. He was a big man with long greasy blond hair and irritated eyes.

"Ah yes," Ezra said, encouraging Chaucer to come alongside Red-Eye Ludlow and his big roan. "Sorry, I was only tryin' to find a breath of fresh air." He smiled disarmingly, but received a vicious look in return.

"You keep in your place, Standish." Red-Eye snarled. "Don't care if you breathe. Your time is almost up. Once we get out of Four Corners, I'm cutting you loose."

Ezra looked disappointed. "But, sir, I believe Mr. Creel makes that decision."

"Don't want no traitor around here," Red-Eye bit back. "Good for nothin' turncoat!"

Again Ezra smiled. "I'm doin' you and Mr. Creel a great favor by joining your mission." The smile dropped as he continued, "And those men in Four Corners have yet to learn what comes from crossing me."

Red-Eye just shook his head in annoyance as the two horses kept stride with each other. Chaucer sidestepped the roan and made it stumble. The overman jerked angrily at his horse's reins, correcting him for his misstep.

"Shut the hell up," Red-Eye ordered, unable to think up a better response, and brought his roan around the side of the group and out of the worst of the dust. He wiped his poor eyes as he found his place in the front.

The outlaws near the rear of the pack laughed. They enjoyed seeing the dandified southerner catch grief from Red-Eye. It had become a sport with some longer tenured men to see how far they could push it. Durand "Red-Eye" Ludlow ran their lives, and Red-Eye hated the gambler on sight. If a man wanted to keep on Red-Eye's good side, he'd hated the gambler as well.

That need for revenge must have been an awful powerful thing, because Standish sure put up with a lot. He was the butt of their jokes and a constant source of amusement. They could say just about anything to the traitor and he'd just shrug it off.

Three times already they'd found a means to get Red-Eye riled enough to go after the southerner. Standish had managed to stand his ground and get a few licks in, but he still sported healing bruises from the drubbings he withstood. The entire camp had hooted in enjoyment, shouting encouragement to Red-Eye, until Creel called an end to it.

Creel tolerated Standish. He was a man who knew what he wanted -- and Standish was a means of getting to that. Standish had already delivered a wealth of helpful information and seemed devoted to the cause of destroying the town of Four Corners. Hell, he'd even been helpful in that sale of stolen goods last month. That incident hadn't set well with Red-Eye Ludlow. The overman had seen the discreet assistance from the southerner as a clear sign that his own position was in jeopardy.

The two men would never get along and Creel was ready to let one of them go when this was over. Although, he appreciated Standish's brains, he preferred Red-Eye's power. One set of brains was enough in this organization.

Creel didn't give a damn that Standish had turned on his former colleagues. Red-Eye had complained that once someone ran out on their friends -- be they lawmen or outlaws -- he was not to be trusted. Well, that was possible. Creel was just glad to have gained from the betrayal, and Creel allowed Red-Eye to keep tight control over the erstwhile lawman, to make certain he didn't have a chance to run out again. They were lucky that the attack wasn't delayed any further because Creel was fairly certain that Red-Eye's tolerance was almost at an end and the turncoat wouldn't last much longer in his shadow.

Creel grinned, thinking that once this was over and all the information and usefulness of Standish had been extracted, Creel would let Red-Eye do whatever he wanted to the traitor. 

He sat forward in his saddle, urging his sorrel onward, anxious to get to Four Corners and begin the killing. 

 

Part 7:

The men rode across the open desert. Josiah and Nathan drove cargo wagons. The others rode alongside them, keeping pace together. It had been the preacher's idea to bring the wagons at the onset of their plans. He refused to leave the scene to fetch a wagon if someone were to be injured. He hated being sent away at critical moments and had convinced Larabee that the wagons would be needed in any case, to haul back their prisoners -- dead or alive.

There would be room to hide the large vehicles along with all the horses at the ambush site so Larabee conceded. He didn't doubt that they would succeed at this. They had been given excellent information and would make use of it. This round-up of outlaws would be simple -- for a change.

JD looked anxiously toward Chris, seeing the leader's jaw set firmly, his eyes forward, staring at the trees before them. It would do little good to talk to Larabee at that moment, his mind was so set on their task. Dunne turned to Buck and said, "Almost there. The pond is right in those trees there."

"Yup," Wilmington responded. "We'll get these wagons and the horses hid, try to cover the tracks a bit, and then start waitin'. Shouldn't take too long for Ezra to bring us Creel."

"Think he's doin' okay?" the young sheriff asked.

Wilmington gave him a quick wink. "Sure, kid. Ezra's a cat. He always lands on his feet. You can bet he's got Creel eatin' out of his hand by now. Probably has the whole sordid lot of them charmed. They'll be doin' whatever he asks of 'em."

"I don't know," JD replied as he kept his eye on the trees. They'd be at Nelson's Pond within the next half hour. "Seems like a pretty ugly group of guys. I know I wouldn't be happy with 'em."

Wilmington chuckled. "Well, you and Ez are different folks. He's used to that sort of stuff and he's got a thicker hide than you do…even though he's got skin like a girl."

JD smiled slyly. "How's it you know that, Buck? You got experience with Ezra on that?"

Buck grimaced. "Shut up, kid."

And JD laughed, glad to have a reason to laugh. Josiah chortled nearby and Nathan smiled from his seat on the following wagon and shook his head at Buck's discomfort.

"I was just sayin' he's not the 'outdoors type', wouldn't you say, Vin?" Buck looked for help. "It's not like I… you know."

The tracker looked serious. "I wouldn't know, Buck."

Buck first scowled and then laughed. "You all are as annoying as hell."

Josiah nodded in agreement.

Wilmington cuffed JD over the head and the kid ducked playfully, bringing Toby to a gallop and out of his reach. 

Buck smiled at Dunne's hijinks. It was good to laugh for a change. He'd felt rather down since Ezra's departure. When he had stood on that boardwalk, backing Larabee as the gunslinger tore into Standish, he had agreed completely with their plan. Now, after two long months, he didn't feel so confident.

Ezra was a puzzle. One could say almost anything to him, and he'd shrug it off, like water from a duck, act as if he didn't really hear the comments. But at the same time, the conman remembered everything.

He'd heard Ezra repeat conversations verbatim, remembering every nuance and inflection, every word spoken – even after the passage of weeks. Certainly Ezra remembered everything that was said that day -- Wilmington just hoped that he also remembered the reason behind it.

Buck liked Ezra. From the first time he set eyes on the gambler, up against a roomful of angry bar patrons, he'd appreciated Standish's guile, his resolve, his bravery, his love for adventure. Wilmington's thought had been, 'we gotta get that guy!' and had always been pleased that Larabee had asked Ezra to join them, that Chris had allowed him to stay even after that 'misjudgment' in the Indian Village.

'Yeah,' Buck thought, 'I miss that pain in the ass.' They almost had him back. Just had to get rid of Creel and the others and everything would be back to normal. He'd give ol'Ez a good thumping, just to remind him what it was like to have a pack of ill-bred gunslingers for brothers. He grinned at the thought, imagining a sputtering gambler.

The group continued onward, getting closer to the trees and the pond within them. JD said, "Won't be long now."

"Don't worry, JD," Buck said with a self-satisfied sigh. "We'll be done with this, get a'hold of Ez and be back home in time for supper." He leaned forward and looked toward Vin. "It'll be simple, don'tcha think, Vin? Easy as…lickin' somethin' off of some-such or other." He grinned at the tracker, trying to encourage him to comment.

Vin just shook his head, feeling the same dark fears that disturbed Larabee. Nothing was simple -- that was certain. He wouldn't feel good about any of this until Creel's gang was stopped and Ezra was back with them.

Vin had never been much for talking and when he first got to know Standish, he wondered if the southerner would EVER shut up. He'd talk rings around someone when a few words would do the same thing. Standish liked money far too much. He dressed in clothes that were ridiculous for riding, read too much, gambled too much, and shaved EVERY DAY! 

Ezra Standish always was the complete opposite of Vin Tanner and the two men probably should have been at each other's throats all the time.

And yet, Vin thought as he followed along with the group, he'd come to like the conman… like him a lot. Somehow, their different ways just worked well together. 'Miss him now,' Vin thought. 'Gonna go find him.'

 

Part 8:

"Standish!" Creel shouted and the gambler made his way with some difficulty through the pack. Nobody seemed to want to let him through, but Creel's call had to be heeded. 

"Standish!" Creel demanded again once the gambler was alongside. "How much farther to this pond?"

Ezra nodded his head, indicating the distance before them. "Not much further. We'll be there in time for our mid-day meal. You'll find it a fine location. There's plenty of water and even firewood if you'd like to make some coffee."

"We ain't gonna want no fire," Red-Eye growled. He had moved aside when Creel called for Standish, and now the two outlaws flanked the conman. "We don't want no smoke to show 'em where we are. Are you a total idiot?" 

"Total, Mr. Ludlow?" Nobody called Ludlow by his nickname. It was a name snickered behind his back. "Not a TOTAL fool, sir. Perhaps a semi-fool or demi-fool." Ezra shrugged at Red-Eye's angry look. "The smoke would make no difference. We are far enough off that it won't be noticed in town and a campfire is a common enough thing in this area."

"We ain't gonna have no fire," Red-Eye ordered, looking to Creel for support.

Creel sighed. He wished that thing could have gone smoothly. It was a shame that Ludlow and Standish didn't get along. That would have been too perfect though. He was destined to have these little imperfections in his life. Heck, a hot cup of coffee would have really hit the spot, but Ludlow had his point. "No fire. The boys won't need no coffee." He heard a sad groan come up from the men behind him. "Besides," he added. "There'll be enough things burning by this evening to keep everyone satisfied." And a happy little murmur backed him.

Ezra nodded. "As you wish," he said in return. He had done his best to play his part, become part of Creel's gang and cause no problems. If he'd been feeling better, he might have fought Ludlow for superiority, but he had joined the gang late and had no place among them. They all saw him as a traitor and the other men, he feared, would only attack him if he were to best their overman. 

Chris had told him to not cause trouble. He was doing his best. The malaise that had gripped him further ruined his desire to gain dominance in the pack. He was only here to direct them and send information home -- that was his task.

Home, he thought as he rode between Creel and Ludlow, did it still exist for him? His meetings with Conklin illuminated the fact that a home for him in Four Corners was unlikely.

Ezra stayed near the front of the pack for as long as he could, glad to be free of the dust, but soon enough, the others forced their way past him and he was relegated to the tail end again. He watched as Ludlow threw him angry glances from time to time, obviously making sure that he was still with them. Ezra tipped his hat at the big blond.

Red-Eye faced forward again and Ezra sighed. He was so damn tired. 

Two months… had it only been two months? It seemed like a long year had passed. A long unbearable year, and yet he bore it. He should have left long ago. He should have flung up his hands and said, 'enough'. Should have packed his saddlebags and turned his back on all of them, and headed out.

Yet he put up with the endless insults, the slights, the fighting, the obvious disgust that everyone met him with. He sported a bruised cheek and sore ribs from his last encounter with Red-Eye.

It wasn't Ezra's style to remain where he wasn't wanted. He knew when to cut his losses and depart, but there was a job that needed to be done, a prize to be won. He wouldn't lose that prize. He'd stick with it to the bitter end.

These people disgusted him. They talked of killing innocents without the slightest remorse. They couldn't care less if children died, if women perished. The twenty men who rode about him were willing to sacrifice every soul in Four Corners for their meager gain. He shivered at the thought, pulling his coat close to him as a chill came through him.

He was catching a cold, he told himself. That was why he felt so poorly, why his arms ached and his head pounded, why he felt so damn tired. It was just a cold.

He had to protect those people, the residents of Four Corners. He had to protect his fellow lawmen. He'd let no harm come to them and would do what needed to be done. It didn't matter that he had been uncomfortable for the past two months. It didn't matter that he was weary and sick. It didn't matter that he hardly found any sleep and that getting up in the morning had become an almost unconquerable task. So often, he had laid there, in his cold bedroll on the hard ground at Creel's camp, and wondered – why bother? For the town, he remembered. I must protect the town.

He recalled the words Larabee had so carefully chosen in the faux-argument. He knew full well that Chris was playing a part, reciting lines to incite a certain response from Creel, but every word spoken had a ring of truth to it.

Larabee certainly seemed prepared with his dialog, had all the stinging nettles ready. The gunslinger must have been mulling those comments over for some time, must have had a list of grievances ready to air, must have been waiting for the right moment to speak what had been long hidden. Larabee had been playing a part in a strange play, but once the chance was given, he couldn't help himself. The truth was revealed.

Chaucer snorted and shook his head, falling back another pace or so. Ezra patted him gently. "It's all right, old friend," he said under his breath. "Chaucer, my friend, let's keep going. We're almost finished. I'll have a fine apple for you at the end of this." The warmth of the animal felt good against his hand.

Chaucer fell back a few more paces and Ezra had to encourage him back into the rear of the pack to avoid Red-Eye's ire. There was no sense in inciting the beast.

He coughed into his hand and then rubbed his aching head. How could he go back to Four Corners now? The townspeople didn't want him. Larabee didn't want him either; the gunslinger had made that clear. It had only been a play, but the dialog was based on reality. Conklin only clarified the situation -- playing the part of the messenger and supplying words for the off-stage action.

It was simple. When this was over, Ezra would leave, depart this stage. Larabee was too decent a man to truly oust him -- Standish would do it himself.

Where would he go when all this was done? Meet up with his mother, perhaps? Or maybe not. Somehow, he didn't feel like facing her just now. She'd only laugh at his predicament, say it was to be expected and that he deserved it all for turning his back on his destiny, his breeding, his training and his wise mother.

Somewhere, there must be a place that would accept a rootless gambler – for a time. At least he was already packed, the crates waited for him in Ridge City.

All in all, he thought as he rode through the dust at the tail end of this group of vicious outlaws, he would be sorry to leave Four Corners. He dropped his head again, thinking of his resolve. He'd prefer to stay, if he could. But that was impossible, wasn't it?

God, he was tired.

 

Part 9:

"Here they come," Vin said softly, crouching behind the rocky escarpment that surrounded the pond.

Chris, just behind him, asked, "How many?"

Tanner took a moment to count, straining his eye through the spyglass. "Twenty-one."

Tucked behind the rocks, JD declared, "Ezra said there'd be twenty. Did they get an extra one?"

Vin didn't look away from the approaching group. "Ezra's the twenty-first. He didn't count himself."

"Oh," JD responded and signaled to the others that were further down the wall, separated from them by an open space between the rocks.

Buck, closest to the gap, nodded when he saw the young man's signal. He turned to Nathan and Josiah and muttered, "Looks like things are about to get interesting."

The group of twenty men plus Ezra slowed as they approached the sparsely wooded pond. They pulled to a stop just outside the perimeter of trees. Vin narrowed his gaze as he watched their careful movements. The other lawmen waited for him, waited in hiding so that their position wouldn't be given away.

The outlaws didn't move in immediately, reminding Vin that Creel was a cautious man -- perhaps he had sensed something. Two men were sent to make a quick circuit of the area. They rounded the water, finding nothing out of the ordinary as they kept their distance from the innocuous natural wall. Apparently Vin had been able to hide the tracks well enough because Creel's men moved closer.

Josiah said a silent prayer, hoping to keep the horses silent. The hidden animals nodded, half sleeping, and didn't make a sound.

Larabee took his chance and looked up from his hiding place. He had to ensure that Ezra was among them – that he hadn't been lost somewhere along the way. It took a minute for Larabee to find their gambler among twenty-one men. They moved in little groups, little cliques and alliances -- all except for one; there was one man who was apart from the rest -- Ezra.

A layer of dust hid the color of his jacket and disguised his horse. 'He's thinner,' Chris thought, keeping close to his cover. Even from this distance, Chris could see a strained and pale look to Standish's face, the bruised cheek half-hidden with dirt, the dark circles under his eyes. 'He looks exhausted,' Larabee thought, and then heard the big blond speak sharply at Standish. Ezra smiled and nodded in response.

"You see, Mr. Ludlow," they heard him drawl. "I've been quite truthful. This shall be a perfect place to prepare for what happens next." The gambler lit a cigar and puffed on it serenely. He dismounted easily and, after giving his faithful animal a gentle pat. Chaucer bit at his lapels, pressing close to him until Ezra encouraged him to the pond.

The regulators in the rocks remained silent as the men pulled what constituted their lunches from the saddlebags, unhooked their canteens and let loose their horses to drink. Ezra sauntered away from the others, walking parallel to the rocky wall that hid the lawmen and their horses. With a yawn, he sat down on a rock and then flicked the ash from his cigar. Nobody seemed to give a damn about him at the moment.

Standish was clear now, out of the line of fire, close to protection.

It was time.

Chris nodded to JD and Vin. Young Dunne signaled Buck, Nathan and Josiah. It was time to end this charade -- it had gone on for too long already.

Chris shouted "Creel! Give yourself up."

The men, squatting by the pond to fill their canteens or sitting among the trees, leaped to their feet. They drew their guns and started shooting frantically, at anything, at everything, not knowing where the voice had come from.

Horses screamed in terror and bolted into the open as everyone dove for cover behind the rocks and trees that littered the area. Chris kept an eye on Ezra. The gambler should have dived behind his rock. Instead, he ran toward the outlaws.

Damn him! Damn him! Chris and the others fired at the outlaws. What the hell does he think he's doing? What if we were to take him out by accident? Damn him! 

Ezra dove through the hail of bullets toward one of the discarded saddles, his cigar still clenched in his teeth. He rolled and came up with a heavy saddlebag, skittering backward and away from the gang. Ezra finally jumped behind a rock, separating himself from the men he had been riding with. Larabee heard JD and Vin audibly exhale once Ezra had reached safety, as Standish looked to one side and smiled toward the rocky wall.

"Smug bastard," Larabee muttered. JD and Vin laughed, glad to have that smug bastard nearly within their grasp.

Larabee and the others continued to fire into the trees when they could. The returning gunfire kept them pinned down and unable to take accurate shots. Creel's men were hidden from sight. Too much cover! This wouldn't be as easy as they'd hoped. The gunfire slowed and soon the air grew quiet again, except for the raspy sound of labored and excited breathing.

"Creel!" Larabee shouted again. "Give it up! We'll take you in alive if we can."

"No way in hell," was the return, and again shooting erupted.

Ezra stayed tucked up in his cover as the two forces shot at each other without accomplishing much. Nobody could take a decent shot with both sides so well hidden. Standish sighed as he listened. 

From his point of view, he could see the wall that hid his comrades and catch glimpses of them as they popped out to take a shot, but he couldn't get a glance at the men he'd only recently abandoned. It would be best if he kept still and out of the battle. It would be best if Creel's men didn't know his part in the scheme. It would be best to do nothing but hide.

Ezra undid the clasp of the saddlebag that he'd risked his life for, and started rooting though it as the gunfire continued at a measured pace. The prize was easily found.

Ezra brought his head up when he heard another shot, and then JD cried out sharply. He looked worriedly toward the wall, clutching the bag tightly to his chest.

 

Part 10:

"Damn!" JD gasped, grabbed at his sleeve, watching in amazement as blood oozed through his fingers. "God, it hurts." He squinted his eyes shut and tightened his grip on the arm.

"JD?" Larabee called, his voice full of question.

The kid leaned heavily against the rocks, trying to control his breathing. He released his tight hold long enough to examine the damage.

"JD!" Larabee demanded again.

Dunne smiled weakly. "Not so bad," he whispered as he clasped at the wound again. "Grazed me, I think. Just hurts like hell." He wasn't going to cry, he told himself as the tears formed in his eyes. The bullet had taken off a good chunk of skin. It hurt like a sum'bitch, but wouldn't kill him.

Larabee nodded, accepting JD's declaration. Larabee could see Nathan looking worriedly toward them, but there was no time to help and too much distance between them as the gunfire continued.

Buck was the next one to yelp. He'd been firing around the side of their stone cover and suddenly lurched away, clutching his thigh. He was upright for a moment longer before he finally collapsed. 

Larabee could hear him swearing loudly from his position down the line. Two men hit now. Chris ground his teeth. There were bodies on the ground around the lake, at least five of Creel's men were dead, but the remaining men were getting more accurate in their aim and he couldn't take a shot worth shit.

Simple… this was supposed to be simple. Nothing was ever easy when lives were at stake.

Ezra had heard Buck's shout, and it rattled him. He fingered the contents of the bag. JD and Buck had been shot – dying maybe, his friends…the men who had sworn to protect Four Corners. He couldn't let that happen. He had to do something.

He rotated the cigar in his mouth as he gathered his resolve. He closed his eyes and tried to remember why he should give a damn.

Ezra knew that his life depended on his staying behind this rock. He knew he was ill, definitely coming down with something. He felt lightheaded. He knew he should stay put. All things considered, he owed nothing to that town anymore. He had completed his task and nobody wanted him there. He glanced again toward the wall. He could hear Buck moaning. 

He caught a glimpse of Vin as he took another shot at the hiding outlaws. Chris was talking to JD, softly and reassuringly and he could hear the young man's reply, pitched higher than usual as he tried to ignore the pain.

Ezra knew that he couldn't let anything happen to them. He'd have to act now. He pressed his hand against his forehead again, feeling heat. Did he have a fever? No wonder he felt so ill. He couldn't seem to think straight anymore.

Well, there's no time to worry about yourself, he thought -- no reason to either. He pulled something free of the bag and prepared himself.

 

Part 11:

Chris was about to pull his head from cover when he heard Vin's frantic shout, "GET DOWN!"

Larabee had enough time to cover his head when the explosion ripped through the area. Wood, water, dirt and bits of outlaw rained down on them. "Son of a bitch!" Chris shouted.

"What does he think he's doing?" Josiah cried, peering out and seeing Ezra lighting another stick with his cigar. "Good God! He's got dynamite!" 

The damn fool was much too close to the target. He'd get blown up along with the outlaws if he wasn't careful. Standish stood in the open, and cocked his arm back, ready to throw the next explosive.

"Duck!" Josiah demanded. Men were shouting and running for their lives. One brave man fired at Ezra and missed. The shooter didn't take time to see if his bullet found its mark as he dove to safety. The second charge was hurled and Ezra ducked back down. Another blast shook the area, throwing up a hail of soil and wood.

"Damn fool is shortening the fuses!" Buck muttered, clutching his wounded leg and laughing. He was wet from the water thrown up in the explosions and debris peppered him. He gasped sharply as Nathan put more weight on his bleeding leg, using his body to protect the wounded man. "Hey, Nate," he said through gritted teeth. "You tryin' t'maim me?"

"Gotta get the bleedin' stopped," Nathan answered sharply, looking over his shoulder at Josiah, who was brushing the dirt from his shoulders. The preacher chuckled in disbelief.

Larabee shook the debris from himself. Damn! He never could trust Standish around explosives. He'd have to stop the fool before he'd blown them all to bits. "Creel!" he shouted. "Creel! You ready to give up?" A silence followed. "Creel? You still alive?"

Chris looked around the rocks to see Maxwell Creel standing near the ruined pond, shaking as he held his hands above his head. The bodies of his men littered the area, and Creel was splattered with blood -- whether it was his own, or that of another was unknown. His face was pale with fear and his legs seemed barely able to hold him. The man who had planned to terrorize the town, had been broken.

"Step out of there, Creel," Larabee ordered and the leader of the group moved slowly away from what was left of Nelson's Pond. The happy little waterhole was half empty, the trees ripped from their roots. The gentle banks were cratered and strewn with bodies.

"I surrender!" Creel muttered and then nodded to his remaining men. Too many were dead -- blasted and bullet ridden. He'd had such a wonderful day planned. How could it end like this? "We surrender."

Those that were still living began to stand, dropping their weapons and holding their hands high. "We'll give you no trouble."

"Vin, Josiah, Nathan," Chris ordered. "Let's get this scum locked up. Ezra! Get your ass out of there. I got a word or two for you!"

'Damn glad to see this end', Larabee thought. Get this garbage locked up and get Ezra back. Put things right again. Get back to a town where kids didn't hide from him, and the women don't hate him. Back where they could all play a game of poker, laugh and relax and enjoy themselves again… get Ezra back.

Vin, Josiah, Chris and Nathan stood up in the rocks, holding their weapons on their captives. Ezra carefully stepped free of his protection. He was covered with the dirt that had been thrown up by the explosions, soaked with the accompanying water. 

'He's damn luck he didn't get blown up with the rest of them,' Larabee thought. 'Yeah, I'll have plenty to say to him about that maneuver.' 

Ezra grinned at him, through the filth that covered him, and Chris returned the smile. 'The fool's gonna want a bath when he gets home.'

Ezra brandished another stick of dynamite, holding it as a warning to Creel. The leader of the outlaws looked toward the man he'd hired and narrowed his eyes in hate.

Everything was calm and quiet again. Ezra was glad for the calm, glad that his headache might gain a reprieve. His head was pounding from the explosions and his mouth felt dry. He glanced toward Larabee and his men. Buck and JD were missing from that brave line. Ezra felt his heart sink. What had happened to them? Nathan would see to them, ensure that they were all right and bring them home to recuperate.

Home… again the word resonated through Ezra. Was there any home left? Conklin had made it clear that Four Corners no longer wanted him. It was time to go. He knew that. It was a simple thing to do -- just go. Why did that thought depress him so?

He needed no home. He'd never had one in his past, why should he yearn for one now? It should be an easy thing to shake off. A place of residence is an inconsequential thing. He had known only saloons, hotels and the backrooms of relatives' houses all his life. Why should he need a home? He needed nothing.

His arm felt tired as he held the explosive. He felt so weak. He just wanted to go someplace far from here and start again, to sleep and start again.

The crack of next shot stunned nearly everyone. Ezra gasped as his side exploded with pain. He twisted about, his eyes wide in surprise, his torso turning red. He tried to find Chris, Vin, Josiah…anyone, but his eyes failed as he fell. He crumbled, landing hard on his back and staring, dazed, at the sky.

Creel and his men gasped, grabbed their guns off the ground and dove again into the rocks as Larabee screamed out, "NO!"

 

Part 12:

Vin sought frantically for the shooter. Gunfire from the others chased him back to cover without success. He could hear a man laughing, but the bullets from Creel's other men kept him pinned down.

"Damn traitor! Turncoat! Bastard!" someone shouted. "I told you Creel! I told you!" 

"Damn you, Ludlow!" Creel shouted back. "You've killed us all!"

There was at least five outlaws still alive, plus the one that had been hidden. All of them were firing now. The fight wasn't over – not over.

"Ezra!" Tanner shouted. "Ezra!" Unable to find the shooter, he turned his attention on Ezra. He was lying stunned on his back, in the open. His white shirt was becoming soaked with blood and he blinked at the sky. He seemed to be aware of nothing. "Ezra!" Tanner called, "Answer me!"

Ezra responded with a groan. He was as helpless as a turned tortoise. He tried to get up, tried to roll over, off his back. His arms didn't seem to want to work for him. His movements were futile.

He twisted and moaned loudly as he finally managed to flip onto his stomach. A bullet pinged close to his head.

"Stinkin' bastard!" Ludlow shouted. "Die, you filthy two-timer!"

"Get back, Ezra!" Vin shouted, glad to see that Ezra was capable of movement. If Standish just edged back a bit, he'd be out of the line of fire. "Get back!" Another bullet kicked up a cloud of dust too close to Ezra's head. "Ezra! Do it!"

Chris was beside Tanner, trying to see around the rock and stay away from the flying bullets. "Standish!" Larabee shouted. "Get your ass back behind that rock!" He put steel into his voice as he demanded, "Do it now! That's an order, Standish!"

At the sound of Larabee's voice, Ezra tried to get his hands beneath him and move closer to the rocks. His arms shook with effort.

Ludlow was laughing still. "Take your time," he muttered. "I got all day."

"Shut your hole!" Larabee shouted back at the unseen man. "You ain't got nothin' anyone wants to hear." And the voice responded with a laugh.

"He okay?" JD asked timidly, pressing hard on his bleeding arm. He leaned against the rock, gazing hopefully at Larabee, feeling lightheaded and a little sick. 

Further down, Nathan looked frantic, trying to take care of Buck who had managed to start his wound bleeding again during the confusion. The healer kept his eye on Chris and Vin, wanting to find some information from their movements. 

"What the hell's happening?" Buck demanded of the healer. "What happened to Ezra?"

Jackson furrowed his brow as he returned to working on Wilmington. "They shot him in the side," he said softly. "Someone's still tryin' to put another bullet in him. He's on the ground now and tryin' to get to safety."

"Aw no," Buck sighed, pressing the back of his head to the ground. "God, no."

Josiah was holding back the outlaws on his own, keeping the majority of them in place, while this Ludlow continued firing at the gambler, as Vin and Chris shouted to Ezra.

Another shot pinged too close to Ezra. The man laughed again. "You're gonna get what you deserve, ya damn traitor!"

Ezra was inching himself backward, dragging himself toward the rock. Whoever was firing at him couldn't get a decent shot… either that or he just had piss-poor aim. 'The first shot must have been damn lucky,' Vin thought and then corrected himself to – 'damn unlucky.'

"Yeah, crawl like the worm you are!" the voice taunted.

"Faster, Standish!" Larabee shouted. "Stop your lolly-gaggin'! Get moving! NOW!" He fired off a few shots in the direction of the unseen shooter.

Obviously, Ludlow had found a place where he could get a shot at Ezra, but was safe from the rest of the lawmen. Someone else fired back at Chris, forcing him back. 

Damn! This was getting nowhere! Vin leaned out and took out one of Creel's men -- another one down.

Ezra didn't raise his head as he dragged himself further backward, leaving a trail of blood. He breathed harshly at the effort, inching slowly.

"You're almost there, Ez," Vin encouraged. "Just gotta go a bit more and you'll be safe!"

"Give up, Standish!" Ludlow countered. "You're as good as dead now. Who would want you anyway?"

Chris set his jaw, without moving his eyes from Ezra he demanded to Vin, "Shut that damn bastard up. Blow his head off."

Vin nodded tightly, grabbed what ammunition he could, and took off along the almost non-existent cover.

Chris and the others set up a barrage, enough to allow Vin to reach the next set of rocks. A bullet clipped Tanner, catching his shirt and tearing a shallow channel across his arm. The tracker grimaced as he dove behind the neighboring wall. He rolled and turned back toward his friends, tugging on the brim of his hat to let them know he was all right. He immediately stared checking out his new location, trying to find the man who wouldn't stop shooting at Ezra. He could feel the sting of the wound, but it would wait.

"What's goin' on?" Buck demanded, as Josiah tried to lay down some fire to allow Vin another attempt at the shooter. Not receiving an answer, Buck tried to shove Nathan away and sit up. "What the hell's happening?"

Ezra still inched his way back, slowly, until the gunfire could no longer reach him, the bullets hit the earth without getting near him any longer. He shuddered as he lowered his head.

"You did it, Ezra," Chris called to him. "Stay put. Don't move."

Nathan looked to Josiah, looking for an answer as well. Sanchez smiled. "Vin's got himself a good location and it looks like our brother Ezra finally got out of the way." The preacher ran a hand across his brow, grateful to see that the bullets couldn't reach Standish anymore. 

Another shot was fired and Josiah's face went white. "Sweet Mother," he groaned.

"What?" Buck again tried to sit up, and Nathan pushed him down. Vin and Chris where swearing from their positions. "What's happening now?"

"The dynamite," Josiah groaned. "He's aiming for the dynamite now."

 

Part 13:

The charge that Ezra had held only minutes ago still lay where it had fallen. Where the shooter had originally targeted Ezra, he now tried to hit the abandoned stick of dynamite. If he were successful, the gambler would be blown to bits along with anyone else who was free of adequate cover.

A little spray of soil kicked up and showered down on Standish. Another bullet hit a few seconds later, just missing its mark. "Hey, Standish!" the voice chided. "Ready for a taste of your own medicine, eh?"

Ezra raised his head slightly and seemed to realize what was happening. His face was blank as his eyes followed the progress of the shooter. One bullet nearly reached the stick. The force of the shot rolled the charge toward Ezra. He watched as it came closer to his hand, and then lowered his head again, turning his face and pressing one cheek to the dirt.

Buck finally succeeded in shoving Nathan off of him. "Help them!" he demanded. "This little ol' scratch can wait."

Nathan regarded Buck for only a second. The bleeding had slowed considerably, and another of his brothers was in danger now. He picked up his gun and Buck released a sigh of relief.

Chris, Josiah and Nathan did what they could to keep the shooter pinned down, but he obviously felt safe in his position. And there were still the rest of Creel's men to contend with. Larabee looked up when he heard the report of a Colt Lightning beside him, glad to see JD return to the fight.

Dunne had fashioned a bandage to slow the bleeding of his wound and tucked his hand into his belt to form a makeshift sling. He fired using his good arm, a grim look on his face. When he felt Larabee's gaze upon him, JD turned toward him and nodded curtly. He wasn't going to let the bad guys win.

Larabee glanced at Vin, seeing him continue his careful search. Another bullet dug a channel near the exposed dynamite. Laughter again.

"You're gonna die, Standish. Die like the worm you are!"

'Get him, Vin,' Larabee thought. 'Get that bastard!' He saw Tanner quickly raise his rifle and fire one shot.

The report was instantly answered with a gurgling shout, the sound of a body falling. Vin turned toward Chris and nodded, with a small smile. The gunfire stopped once more.

"Creel!" Larabee shouted. "If you're still breathing, I suggest you end this. We got your man!"

"It wasn't my doing!" Creel insisted from his hiding place. "That was Ludlow!"

"I don't give a damn! Step clear and give up your weapons or, I swear, I'll kill you!"

The lawmen hesitated this time and waited for Creel and three other men to step away from the rocks and the fallen trees. The landscape behind them was pitted and ruined by the explosions, bodies lay everywhere, the stick of dynamite that had been such a tempting target lay untouched, a scant few inches from Ezra's hand. Ezra wasn't moving and the gurgling cry continued.

Nathan was the first to leave the protection, springing over the rock wall with his bag in hand and rushing toward the downed Standish. At the healer's movements, the others went into action. JD, Josiah and Chris charged toward Creel and his remaining three men. Vin went after Ludlow, throwing a look toward Ezra as he ran.

'Move, damn it,' Tanner demanded. But Ezra was as still as death.  
5  
Tanner found the big blond lying on his side, his hands clutching his throat. As Vin approached, the outlaw raised one hand, pleadingly, allowing blood to squirt from the gaping wound in his neck. The area around him was sprayed with the red substance. Every attempted breath sent up another red mist from the hole in his neck. 

"Help me," Red-Eye tried to say, blood dripping from his open mouth. The words were nothing but a wet gasp.

Vin raised his rifle, keeping a bead on the man's head. Ludlow lowered his hand, unable to hold it up any longer. "Help me," he mouthed, uselessly clasping his neck, trying to hold back the life-force that was fleeing him. His eyes sought help, but found none. The tracker returned his frightened gaze with cold blue eyes.

'Help me,' Durand Ludlow thought. He choked. Everything grew dimmer. The world shrank from around him.

Vin waited until those red eyes became unfocused, until the hands no longer clutched at the ruined neck, until he stopped trying to suck in air, until the blood stopped flowing. Once Tanner knew the man was dead, he abandoned him to find his friend.

 

Part 14:

By the time Vin returned to the others, Chris and Josiah were tying up their captives, while JD held the four survivors under his gun. Nathan had rolled Ezra onto his back and was dutifully working over him, pressing a folded cloth over the gunshot wound that colored his side. 

'Alive,' Vin thought thankfully. 'He's still alive.'

But Ezra's face was pale and slack, his eyes shut. His clothing and the ground around him were dark with blood. Alive, yes, but dreadfully hurt.

"What can I do?" Vin asked, squatting beside the healer. 'Please', Vin thought, 'tell me something I can do. Don't send me away.'

Nathan didn't even look up. He might not have even recognized who hovered there beside him. 

"Press down, here," he ordered, indicating the bandage. "Gotta stop the bleeding." 

When Vin took over at the bandage, Nathan started yanking things from his bag. Vin watched Ezra's face for any reaction as he pressed, but there was none. 

The white cloth was turning red beneath his fingers. Ezra gasped and his eyes fluttered for a moment as the pressure increased.

"S'okay, Ez. S'okay, I'm gonna help," Vin said reassuringly, and the gambler soon quieted. Ezra's face strained in a pain-filled grimace before it returned to utter stillness.

JD and the others looked toward them. The outlaws knew better than to try for escape. These lawmen wouldn't let them live if they tried anything now. They let themselves be led by the distracted men.

"What the hell's happening?" Wilmington shouted from where he'd been left, still hidden among the rocks.

"You keep still, Buck," Nathan barked, as he pulled out his tools. "I swear, if you start to bleedin' again, I ain't gonna do nothin' for you!" He gathered more bandages from his bags.

"Dammit, Nate!" Buck's voice carried above the wall. They could hear him slap the rock with his open hand in frustration. "Is everyone okay? What's goin' on? How's Ezra?" He was blind in his location, and growing frantic. 

"We got him, Buck," Chris replied, shoving Creel to the ground along with the last of his men. Out of twenty men, only four were left -- mighty poor return.

"Chris, is he okay?" The plaintive sound of Wilmington's voice was impossible to ignore. "Jus' tell me, is he okay?"

"Nate's with him," Chris stood over Creel and the man glared back at him. The comment told him nothing... and everything.

"Chris…" the call came over the wall and Larabee shook his head. He knew exactly what Wilmington wanted. He can't die with me bidin' my time here in safety. Let me see him.

"I'm comin', Buck." Chris nodded to Josiah. "Keep an eye on the kid."

JD sucked in his pale cheeks. "I'm fine, Chris," he stated determinedly. He changed his stance, holding his gun steady on his charges, keeping his wounded arm still.

Chris started toward the rock wall to fetch Wilmington. "Just don't let him keel over, Josiah."

"You can rest assured, I won't let him fall." Josiah smiled at the youngest of the group, and then gave JD a reassuring thump on the back. The kid was doing well, and would hold his own.

JD kept his attention switching from the outlaws to his friends. Creel and his men had no spirit left. They had seen their fellow gang members shot, blown to bits… they had heard Red-Eye's strangled last breaths. They were done.

JD watched as Vin kept weight on Ezra. Twice, Ezra's hand twitched, but he was otherwise still; he sucked in his breath more than once, as if preparing to scream -- but exhaled instead, like a deep sigh. INathan returned and squatted next to Vin. "We got to get him bound up, get the bleeding stopped."

"What about the bullet?" Vin asked, moving to let Nathan in.

"More important that the hole heals," Nathan told him. "A man can live a long life with lead in him."

Ezra stirred, as Vin sat him up, and Nathan began winding fresh bandages over the bloody rags that Vin had been using.

Dunne turned when he heard the sound of a wagon. Chris guided the vehicle out from its hiding place, with Wilmington already settled in the back.

Wilmington leaned eagerly over one side of the wagon. "Nate!" he called. "Nate! He gonna be okay?"

"He's a fighter," Nathan replied, tying off the cloth, hoping it would hold for now. "He'll fight this." He laid a hand on Ezra's warm head. 'He's already got a fever,' the healer thought, wondering if he was sick before this all started. He certainly didn't look well when Jackson first laid eyes on him. 'Fight this,' he thought to himself. 'Don't give up.'

 

Part 15:

The living crowded the lead wagon. Sanchez drove while Larabee rode beside him, sitting sideways on the seat to keep an eye on the other occupants. Creel and his three men were tied at the front. The four outlaws had made it through the battle without a scratch -- lucky bastards. Chris told them that they could be easily moved to the other wagon if they did anything foolish, could join their fellow gang members in more than just locality. They let Larabee know that there'd be no trouble from them -- none whatsoever.

Ezra was situated at the back of the wagon, with Buck and Nathan beside him. He hadn't made a sound as Josiah and Nathan transferred him, after Larabee had put together a sufficient bed with the blankets. Josiah had kept up a one-sided conversation with the unhearing man, holding him close as they moved him, as if the nearness might return some life to his limp body.

The wagons were loaded -- one was filled with the dead. The bodies were laid out on the wagon's bed and covered with blankets, not out of respect or decency, but to keep away the flies. The force of the explosions had done terrible damage to many of them. Others had died from their bullet wounds. Ludlow was thrown in with the rest, his eyes blank now and his mouth was still.

Ezra had opened his eyes only for a moment when they settled him, seeming to search for a moment, looking bewildered. "We got ya, Ezra," Nathan had assured, seeing the eyes seek. But, the man quickly lost his grip with reality and fell back into unconsciousness.

Nathan had doctored JD's arm, placing a few stitches into the nasty graze and making him drink half a canteen of water before he put him in charge of the second wagon. It would be easy to handle, simply following the first. The healer kept an eye on the young man as they headed away from Nelson's Pond, making sure he stayed upright in the wagon seat. 

JD sat exceptionally tall, just to prove that he was up to the task of driving the wagon home. He'd just have to keep himself from remembering what his cargo entailed. A quick glance behind him was enough to make his 'iffy' stomach turn over. Several of their horses were tied behind the second wagon, and followed it in a line.

Vin stayed behind to round up the loose horses. The innocent animals need not suffer for the ills of their masters. He'd kept his bedroll and kit, prepared to spend the night at the pond and wait until help arrived to move the herd. Chris watched as the wagons pulled away and Vin headed out after the horses, going for one specific animal first.

The horses loped around the open area, still frightened by the horrible noises. The skittish creatures herded together, seeking comfort with their numbers -- all except for one. The lone horse wandered about, never going far from the site of the explosions. It seemed more lost than frightened, wanting to join the herd, but was torn between the need to be with others of his kind and the need to return. He paced the open space between, searching.

Vin whistled sharply and the chestnut stopped its pacing and threw back its head. Tanner whistled again, ambling toward the lonely horse. Peso whinnied and the chestnut started toward them, craning its neck and whickering.

It had no fear of them and approached with almost a relieved look on its long face. Larabee watched as Vin caught hold of the animal's bridle and pulled it toward him. Once captured, Chaucer leaned against Peso as Vin gently stroked its neck. The wagons increased the distance until Chris could no longer make out what was happening.

 

Part 16:

The trip home took far longer than anyone wanted. JD kept a determined face, following behind. Josiah threw glances over his shoulder through most of the ride, but kept a careful watch ahead, trying to find the easiest pass over the trackless country. 

Why hadn't Ezra guided them to someplace along a decent, well-packed trail? A road, maybe? Less population, Josiah decided -- less chance of anyone else getting hurt.

Now, because he had chosen this unpeopled location, Ezra had to suffer the consequences. The wagon jumped and bobbled and jounced as they made their way home, and every bump was murderous on the injured occupants.

"Say, Josiah," Buck growled. "Think ya could find ANOTHER hole to ride us through?"

"Sorry, Buck," Josiah said in a low voice. "There seems to be a multitude of them, and try as I might, we can't get around every one."

Buck muttered and clung to his aching leg. "Just keep it easy for a while, okay?"

Larabee returned his gaze to Creel and the man shrunk back from his deadly glare. The other three men had been fairly new to his gang and had no loyalty to it. They crept as far as they could from Creel, hoping to avoid the hatred of the dark-clad gunslinger.

Nathan sat beside Ezra, keeping a close eye on him, watching his labored and shallow breathing. He laid his hand again on Ezra's face, cupping it around Ezra's cheek and chin, feeling the warmth of fever. 'Damn, damn, damn,' the healer thought.

And the wagon hit another snag, banging everyone about.

Ezra gasped again, and clenched his hands into the blanket. He opened his eyes halfway, staring glassily at the two men who sat beside him.

"Hey, Ez," Buck said softly. "You gettin' tired of this ride, too? I know I am. Seems to me we got to find every gopher hole in the territory. Didn't think there was so many of them, did you? Josiah's doin' his best though. He's driven a wagon or two in his day and he knows what he's doin'. It'll get easier once we make it to the road, you'll see."

Nathan checked the bandage, to make sure that the most recent jostling hadn't started the wound bleeding again. He glanced to Buck, seeing the pained look on Wilmington's face. "Your leg gettin' worse now, Buck?"

"Hurts like a whole mess of woodpeckers are holdin' a peckin' party in it," Buck returned, but he frowned, showing that this wasn't the reason for his concern. "He ain't doin' so good, is he?"

"Shouldn't 'ave gotten a fever so fast. I'm 'fraid he was sick before anythin' here started."

Chris shoved Creel. "That right?" Larabee demanded. "Was he sick?"

Creel looked astonished. "I don't know," he returned quickly. "It wasn't my problem."

"He sure looked sick," JD responded from his place in the second wagon. "He looked kinda poorly when I first laid eyes on him."

Creel made a sour face at having to respond to the questions. "It wasn't my place to know if a man had an ailin' tummy. Ludlow was my overman. He saw to the men. Your man shot Ludlow down so I don't have an answer for you."

Chris glared at Creel, disgusted that this man couldn't even keep track of his own men. And he sighed, reminding himself that Ezra was NEVER one of Creel's men. Ezra was Larabee's responsibility and it was his fault that Ezra had been sick while in Creel's company. 

'Sorry, Ezra,' he thought as he watched Buck tuck himself closer to Ezra, trying to save him from the worst of the jostling. 'Should've kept an eye on you. Should've made sure you were okay.'

Buck was talking quietly to Ezra, "Vin got Chaucer okay. I seen him do it. He'll bring him home for ya." He picked up Ezra's hand and clutched it. "Don't worry none about that. I know that horse of yours likes a roof over his head as much as you do. He'll just spend the night with his buddy Peso and come on home tomorrow. I think Peso missed him. I know my horse did. Clyde didn't have anyone to tease him for no good reason while Chaucer was gone. He didn't know what to do with himself. Kept lookin' over his shoulder as if he expected trouble and looked kinda disappointed when he didn't find any. You'll get to see Chaucer when Vin brings him back. What do you say to that?"

But the conman didn't move. Buck listened to Ezra's shallow breathing and turned toward Nate. "Is he gonna be okay? He don't sound so good."

Nathan stated, "We're just gonna have to wait and see."

Buck frowned. "You're gonna be okay, hoss," he muttered to the gambler. "I'll stake a month's wages on that one. Just hang in there."

Josiah hit another rut, jolting the wagon's passengers. Ezra gasped at the harsh treatment and opened his eyes again.

"Hey, Ez," Buck said with an encouraging smile, seeing his green eyes. "We're almost home. Just relax. We'll get you there."

And Ezra drifted away, without speaking, without moving, falling back into his black sleep. Over and over it was the same thing -- a violent bump, and startled eyes looking for help. 

"Almost home, buddy. Just hang on a bit and we'll get you there." "It won't be long now. We'll get ya home." "Just stay with us."

Nathan moved between his patients, checking on Buck and watching JD carefully. The young sheriff would look offended when he noticed Jackson's speculating glance. He'd lift his head high, and hold his wounded arm carefully. 

JD was doing all right. Vin had remained still long enough to have his scratch tended before he left for the horses. Buck couldn't move far with his bum leg. Ezra wasn't moving at all.

"Who hit him?" Larabee asked suddenly.

"What?" Creel looked stunned, not ready for a question.

"I said, 'who hit him?'" Larabee nodded toward the bruise on Ezra's face. "And don't tell me that it isn't your worry."

Creel didn't know what to say immediately. Standish was dying from a gunshot wound and Larabee was first concerned about a cold, and now a bruise. "Ludlow," he finally replied.

Larabee's eyes hardened. "Why?"

Creel considered for a moment and then said, "Ludlow figured the man was a traitor… and he was. I should have listened to him. If I had only got rid of Standish at the start of this, we'd be free and clear." Creel shrugged.

Ezra stirred and Buck placed a hand on him again. "Easy, Ez. We're almost home."

"Standish never fit in with my men," Creel continued. "Most of them couldn't stand the sight of him. Ludlow, at least, had some sense about him." He jerked his head in Ezra's direction and the gambler clenched his hand. "Always knew this one was scum."

With surprising speed, Larabee slammed a fist into Creel's face. The outlaw fell violently against the man nearest him, gasping as he grabbed at his bloody lip.

The man who'd become a pillow tried to move out from under Creel. He didn't want to be associated with his former leader anymore.

His hands bound, Creel fought to sit up, not receiving any help from his men.

Creel looked up to find Larabee still over him, his face red with rage and straining forward. The only thing that stopped him from launching himself onto the outlaw was the preacher, who had twisted around in the wagon seat and latched a massive arm around Larabee's chest.

"Brother," Sanchez said in a low voice, "Best let him be. We need someone to stand trial for his sins."

Larabee lurched once more, making Creel flinch. He smiled, a smile that chilled Creel's soul. 

"I'll watch you hang," Larabee growled and then settled himself back in the front seat. 

Creel gulped.

Sanchez chuckled as Larabee settled again. "Did it feel good?"

"Damn good," Larabee returned, flexing his hand. "I'll do it again if need be." 

JD grinned from the other wagon and both Nathan and Buck looked pleased. Chris had a mighty strong feeling that he wouldn't be the only one willing to administer a little justice to this bastard if necessary.

Creel hunched his shoulders and said no more.

Buck kept one hand on Ezra, trying to keep him still in that rattling wagon bed, keeping a grip on him as if it would hold him back from death. Ezra was as pale as a sheet, breathing strangely and too damn still. Wilmington talked almost the entire way. Most of it was idle chatter, just pointing out the landmarks as they went past them or talking about events around town -- things that Ezra had missed. His leg throbbed throughout, and screamed with pain when they hit bumps, but he could stand it. He kept his attention on Ezra.

They hit another hole and Ezra gasped again, looking out through hooded eyes and falling again, falling away from them.

"Ez?" Buck called hopefully, but Ezra was gone again.

'Answer me, Ez,' Buck thought, his hand clenching Ezra's. 'Just say a word or two. Don't keep so quiet. Don't do this. Stay with us.'

 

Part 17:

It was growing dark as they approached town. Nathan glanced back at JD who smiled triumphantly. His face was pale and he sat stiffly on the seat, directing the horses with one hand. 

He'd probably tip over the minute he climbed out of that seat, but he wasn't going to give in.

"Tough little soldier, ain't he?" Buck said softly, following Nathan's gaze. "I could'a done the job, too," he confided. "A hole in my leg ain't gonna stop me." He gestured to the bandaged wound and then winced as he tried to sit up straighter. "But, ya see," he groaned. "I wanted to look after Ez."

Nathan nodded knowingly. Ezra had been oblivious through most of the ride, but Nathan was glad for Buck's presence. Maybe Ezra realized that someone was beside him, keeping a grip on him and speaking to him the whole way. Maybe he knew that someone cared.

The two wagons rattled into the darkening town and the townspeople gave way, looking curiously at the occupants. They had seen their lawmen ride out that morning, and were left with the trepidation that always met them when their peacekeepers were gone. The town had a long history of violence, and it was disheartening to see all of the remaining lawmen leave at once -- it left them open and unprotected.

The town was always uneasy until they returned.

They stared as the two wagons came to a stop in front of the clinic. Some shied away from the second one, seeing the bloody bodies piled up beneath the blankets. Some drew nearer, fascinated by nearness of death. The townspeople didn't like the looks of the four men that were jammed at the front of the first wagon, one of them with a swollen lip. It took them a minute to register that the man at the back of the wagon, bloody, muddied and pale, was their familiar and missing gambler.

"Standish?" Conklin cried, stepping clear from the rest of the crowd. "You brought him back?" 

The man watched as Nathan and Chris carefully lifted Standish from the wagon bed to Josiah.

Ezra eyes opened partway, gazing out at the crowd that had formed, blinking dully at them. His breathing became more ragged, the pain tearing at him as he was lifted.

"It's okay, son," Josiah murmured softly, holding Ezra gently as Chris climbed down to help him. "We're home now. It's okay."

JD moved from the 'dead' wagon to the front one. Ben Mack, the town's undertaker, would be busy tonight, he thought. Dunne smiled weakly at Buck as he leaned on the vehicle. They'd watch the prisoners until someone came back to take them to the jail. Creel and his men would be certainly guarded, but for now, Buck and JD watched the group that headed toward the clinic.

"He gonna be okay, Buck?" JD asked.

"Sure, kid," Buck replied, but his voice held doubt.

"Did he say much? I couldn't hear anythin' from where I was."

"Didn't have much to say, JD," Buck replied softly.

Chris had taken up Ezra's legs and helped Josiah carry him to the stairs.

"What?" Conklin stated, coming up behind them. "You aren't locking him up? He's a criminal! He's run with that lot! I know, I've seen him with those men in Ridge City when I was there to get my shipments." He gestured toward Creel with disgust. "We don't want the like of him in this town. This is a decent place. It's finally shaping up now that we got rid of that no-good conman and we don't want no more of his…"

If Larabee wasn't trying so hard to carry Ezra steady, he would have sprung on the man. His voice became as low and as dangerous as a mountain lion's growl. "You son-of-a-bitch, get your worthless ass away from me before I rip you apart!"

Conklin stepped back in surprise, and was shoved further away as Nathan pushed past him. 

Josiah watched as Ezra's hooded eyes momentarily glanced across Larabee's grimace, and closed again. Standish sighed audibly.

"Son," Josiah shook him gently as they started up to the clinic. "Ezra?"

"What's wrong?" Nathan asked, clambering up the stairs behind them.

"I don't know," Josiah replied. There had been such a sorrowful sound to that sigh. "He seemed to be with us for a moment, but he's gone again."

 

Part 18:

Carl Stoker and his brother Mick had gone out to Nelson's Pond the next morning to help Vin bring the horses in. The Stokers took the majority of the stock home with them. They'd take charge of them at their ranch until word came regarding the orphaned animals' future.

Vin rode on to Four Corners with Chaucer beside him. The town had a different feel to it as he made his way up the street. There was an excitement that hadn't been there for weeks now, an anticipation that he could almost taste. The people who watched him pass stepped back with their hands held close to their chests as if they held in the questions they yearned to ask. Nobody spoke, they just watched him with questioning eyes.

He smiled when he reached the livery and saw that the stall at the back corner had been emptied of the equipment that had been stored there for almost two months. Chaucer snorted happily at the sight of his familiar home and walked immediately to it. He swung his head around and nipped at the brim of Vin's hat.

Vin brushed the horse away. "Yeah, that's right, Chauce." He had forgotten what an annoyance the animal was. It was good to have him around again. "You're home now," he muttered. "I just hope your owner is doin' okay."

He ran his hand over the chestnut's head. "He sure didn't look too good when I last seen him." The horse snorted and Vin added, "He's gonna be okay though."

He felt a little self-conscious, speaking to the animal. He wasn't much of a conversationalist himself, and Peso was used to his silence, but Chaucer seemed to behave better when someone explained things to him. He'd heard Ezra holding entire conversations with the horse, acting as if he was receiving intelligent responses and receiving answers to supposed questions.

Vin left the horses in the care of the livery boys; they'd unsaddle the horses and brush them down -- see to their well-being. He went immediately to the clinic.

He strode up the stairs slowly and put his hand on the door. He dreaded the scene he might find. What if Ezra wasn't here? What if he had been taken away already and brought to Ben Mack's? What if he died while I was out there still? He pressed the door open and stood a moment in the open doorway.

"Hey, Vin!" Buck called cheerfully from his place on one of the cots. "Good t'see ya, Tanner!"

Jackson sat up a little straighter in his chair. "Vin," he said with a nod. "How'd it go? Any trouble?"

"Naw," Vin responded absently. "No problems." He entered the room anxiously, slowly approaching the bed. He was still there – thank God. Ezra was breathing shallowly, feverish, but alive.

Vin didn't want to ask 'how is he?' A blind man could see he wasn't well. The tracker just laid one hand on top of Ezra's hand. He felt so warm. His face was so pale and gaunt that he hardly looked like the suave gambler Vin had become familiar with.

"He's hanging in there," Jackson answered Vin's unasked question. "He lost a lot of blood, Vin, and this fever ain't doin' him any favors. If he makes it through the day, he should be okay."

Vin nodded and the other two men remained silent. Ezra just continued to take his insubstantial breaths. "Where's Chris?" the tracker asked. He had expected to see Larabee stationed here as well, not moving from the gambler's side.

"The jail," Nathan replied. "Josiah kept an eye on those fellas for most the night. Chris took over for him some hours ago. JD's s'posed to take a turn after he's slept."

"You can bet ol' Chris will be back as soon as JD's there to spell him," Buck put in. "He could hardly pull himself from Ezra when he left, but he couldn't let Josiah fall asleep on the job. Nate sent JD to bed, but you can bet that kid will be there on the spot. Hell, Josiah was here up until sunrise, then Nate made him go. I think he would 'ave preferred to go to sleep here, but Nate wouldn't have it."

Nathan shrugged. "I already got two patients to tend to. There was no more room for another." The healer had seen the solemn sadness on the preacher's face, the determination to stay awake despite his fatigue. He'd left, finally, with the promise that Nathan would rest when Vin returned.

Vin nodded and returned his gaze to Ezra's expressionless face. "Wake up at all?"

"A couple times since we got back," Nathan replied. "We talked to him a bit. He ain't said much. Doesn't really seem to know what's goin' on."

"He just looks so damn sad," Buck added. "I don't know, Vin. It's like he doesn't know why he's here."

"He can't remember?" Vin asked, perplexed.

"Naw…it's just," Buck pulled a face as he tried to put his thoughts into words. "He's just not right."

Vin clasped the warm hand and squeezed it gently. He smiled slightly, remembering how JD had teased Buck the day before. Ezra had the skin of a girl. The smooth hand flexed in his. "Ezra?" he tried. A minute passed as Ezra slowly turned his head and sucked in his breath. "Ezra?" Vin called again.

"Vin?" Ezra returned hoarsely.

"Hey, pard," Vin replied, crouching down beside the bed, not releasing the hand. Buck sat up expectantly in his bed. Nathan strode closer.

Ezra opened his eyes and looked toward Tanner. His eyes didn't quite seem to focus on him. "You're back?" Ezra voice was soft and without inflection.

"Yep. Come right back," Vin smiled, trying to ignore the obvious pain in Ezra's eyes, the strain on his face.

"Chaucer…" Ezra gasped.

"Got him back just fine. Dinnent give me no trouble a'tall. I think he was just glad to come on home." Vin saw a flinch cross Ezra's face. "You okay?" He looked worriedly to Nathan.

"M'fine, Vin," Ezra said dully, his eyes half-closing. He'd never told a more obvious lie before. "My saddle…did you find my saddle?"

"Brung it back with Chaucer. The boys at the livery will put it where it always goes…just like always."

Ezra tried to smile. "Good…" he breathed out the word.

"We'll get yer tack box back soon as we can and Chaucer'll be all settled. He'll have all your fancy brushes and stuff again."

Ezra moved his head a fraction, imitating a nod. "He deserves the best."

Nathan moved in with a cup of his usually remedies. "Ezra, I'm gonna want you to take some of this and I don't need no fussin'. I've been puttin' up with Wilmington here all night as well as Larabee and the others and I don't need no fight." He smiled as he spoke, ready to rile the southerner. He'd gotten Ezra to drink water earlier, it was time to get some medicine into him. He prepared himself for the usual confrontation.

Instead, Ezra just pivoted his languorous gaze to Nathan and offered no resistance. Vin helped sit Ezra up and Nathan fed him the contents of the cup. There was no outcry, no voicing of disgust, no grimaces. He simply drank what was offered to him, letting Vin hold him up.

'Damn,' Nathan thought as he held the empty cup in his hand. He knew for a fact that this was a particularly foul concoction. Ezra had taken it without muttering a word. The gambler looked back at him dully, blinking lethargically.

As Vin helped settle Ezra back on his pillows, he glanced across to Nathan and saw a discontented look. Buck returned the same expression. Something was definitely wrong.

 

Part 19:

Chris watched the outlaws as they began to stir. The three men who worked for Creel awoke before their boss. Larabee had questioned them without learning much. It seems that they had joined the group too recently to have been part of any of the earlier raids. They knew little of the plans for Four Corners, outside of the fact that they'd be rich when they left it.

They weren't saints, Chris realized -- no, not by a long-shot -- but it appeared that they had done little more than accompany Creel and assist in the attack on the lawmen. They'd be tried for that and nothing more.

Creel was his prize. The leader kept silent during the questioning, feigning sleep on the cot. He must have heard all that his men had said. They were eager to give him up -- but had nothing of value to provide.

"Creel," Larabee growled. The man didn't move. "Creel!" Larabee shouted. "I need answers."

"I have nothing to give you," Creel responded, not opening his eyes or shifting his position on the cot.

Chris jumped to his feet and strode to the cell. "You'll hang for the murders of innocent people in those other towns."

Creel finally opened his eyes. "Do you have any proof?"

"I have plenty," Chris replied, not knowing what evidence he could find to back up his claim.

Creel snorted. "Bring me some proof and maybe you'll have yourself a case against me. I did nothing more than bring my men out on a ride to Nelson's Pond. Ain't no crime in that. I can't believe that you can accept the words of these obviously ill-informed cow-hands."

When Larabee didn't reply, Creel smiled and tried to get back to sleep. 

Chris watched Creel with a steady glance. There was no doubt in his mind that Creel would hang. He'd just have to wait until Ezra could provide him with what he needed. Let Ezra rest a bit yet, Chris decided. I'll get what I need from him before the judge arrives, but until then I'll let him get his strength back.

He tensed in his chair, thinking of Standish. Nobody had come to fetch him yet, so he knew Ezra still lived, that he hadn't worsened. He glanced to the clock, counting the minutes until JD would arrive and relieve him.

 

Part 20:

"Mr. Larabee," Mary said as she approached him, clutching her pad and pencil. She had seen JD head toward the jail to relieve Chris Larabee. 

Chris came to a stop and touched the brim of his hat. "Mary," he greeted. "What can I help you with?"

She smiled and cleared her throat. "I thought that I might write a story about what happened to Ezra with Creel's gang."

Chris didn't reply immediately, mulling over the idea. "We won't have a whole story until Ezra feels like talkin'."

"I believe I have enough for a start." Mary bit her lip and frowned prettily. "But I was concerned about something."

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering if it was short-sighted of me to publish the account." She sighed. "You see, I was up at the clinic earlier to check on Ezra. He was asleep, Nathan, too. Buck and Vin told me all about what had happened. I was amazed. I never knew anything about it, especially after our discussion of the matter." She gave Chris a look that he couldn't exactly interpret. "Ezra did so much for this town; living with those people and getting hurt to protect us. I think the town should know what he did. I think he deserves that, but…"

"But…" Chris prompted, realizing the reluctance of the newspaperwoman.

"I thought about it and wondered if it was the best idea." She fiddled with her pencil as she spoke. "I considered that this was a very effective way to stop these men, becoming part of their group to learn about them. What you did was very intelligent, leading Mr. Creel and this whole town to believe the worst of Ezra. I'm concerned that if I publish the account, Ezra might be in danger if you were to use the same idea in the future." 

When Chris didn't speak immediately, she continued, "I'm afraid that someone might read the story and use that against him, might realize that it's all a… con, if you were to kick Ezra out of the town again"

Chris said nothing as he thought about what Mary had presented him with. What she said was true; they didn't need any proof of the whole processes laid out in print. If they were to use the same scenario in the future -- verbally attack Ezra and toss him from the town -- allow him access to a gang. If Mary were to report this incident, their plan would be revealed. It would be best if it was all kept quiet.

Still, Larabee recalled that hurt look on Ezra's face as he was cursed in front of the whole town. Larabee recalled the two-month wait, with only cryptic messages as contact, remembered how thin and tired and sick Ezra looked when they met up with him again. He could still envision Ezra jerk and twist and fall as the bullet struck him, his eyes wide. Then, the jeering comments of Ludlow as the degenerate continued to fire at the helpless gambler.

Chris closed his eyes, remembering how happy he'd been with the idea that they'd get Ezra back, and then how terrified he'd felt with the idea that he'd be taken away, before their eyes -- that they'd be unable to do anything to stop it. He recalled Ezra's difficulty in breathing, his pained looks during the trip home, waiting all morning for someone to come running to him and tell him the worst.

Chris thought about what the past two months must have been like for Ezra and he said, "Print it. We won't be doing this again." He could state that without any reservations. There was no way in hell he'd put Ezra through this same thing again. He didn't deserve it.

Mary nodded. "That would be wonderful. Maybe I could go up and talk to Ezra about what happened when he's awake?"

Chris sighed. "When he's ready. I don't want him to bothered at all while he's recovering." He raised his eyes quickly and added, "I don't mean that you're a bother…"

Mary smiled. "I know what you meant. I'll wait until he's feeling stronger and put his story in the next issue."

"That'd be a fine idea, Mary."

"Now, Mr. Larabee." Her demeanor changed as she became a journalist and said, "Could you tell me how this all started?"

Larabee regarded her statement and replied, "Later, Mary. I gotta check up on him first." And he continued on his way toward the clinic.

 

Part 21:

He could still hear the words, resounding in his head. He knew full well that Larabee had acting a part to break him free from the town, but that didn't stop Chris from continuing his onslaught far after the charade should have ended. He had been hurt, he remembered that. It was impossible to ignore the gnawing agony.

"Shut your hole! You ain't got nothin' anyone wants to hear." – he'd heard it as he lay on the ground, bleeding.  
"You son-of-a-bitch, get your worthless ass away from me before I rip you apart!"

Larabee's words reverberated in his head, followed by others…voices he didn't completely recognize, but could understand full well.

"Stinkin' bastard!"

"Standish never fit in with my men. Most of them couldn't stand the sight of him. Always knew this one was scum."

"He's a criminal! We don't want the like of him in this town. This is a decent place. It's finally shapin' up now that we got rid of that no-good conman."

Again and again, the words replayed in his fevered mind, mingling with the words Larabee had spoken earlier until it all became one voice, condemning him, ordering him away.

"Money is the only thing you give a damn about. You'd sell your mother for a dollar. You'd give up your soul for less. I doubt you even have one anymore."

"You're useless."

"Get out of this town and never show your worthless face around here again!"

He wanted to escape the words, wanted to convince himself that it was all just a play, but accusing voices wouldn't stop. He felt so hot, so tired, so hurt. He wished the voices would let him be, but they followed him into his sleep and chased him deeper into blackness.

He woke with a start and heard Nathan near him, call his name urgently and shaking him gently. "Wake up, Ezra. You're dreamin'! Come on, Ez, quiet down."

"Easy, Ezra." Was that Larabee?

Of course he was dreaming, he was asleep, wasn't he? He lay still, not opening his eyes, and Nathan stopped his querulous calling. The voice that might have been Larabee slipped away. He didn't want to face them yet.

"That's right," he heard Nathan murmur. "It's okay now. Just rest easy. Go back to sleep."

Okay? Nathan had said it was 'okay now.' Well, maybe for him. The voices were already muttering again, getting ready to accost him again. Ezra realized, with a heavy heart, that the only way to quiet the voices would be to follow through with the demands, and leave.

He didn't want to go, but it was the only way.

 

Part 22:  
"JD," Billy called as he tramped down the boardwalk. The Potter children followed in close pursuit, their feet making a cacophony on the wooden walkway. "JD!"

"Hi there, kids," the young sheriff responded. "What're you all up to?"

"We were wonderin'," Miss Katie said, dropping her head. "We were wonderin' if we could go up and see Ezra now."

"Yeah," Paul added. "I wanted to bring him this pony." The boy held up a little tin horse, carefully positioning the toy so that its feet were all level. It was spotted and painted with a bright red saddle and had real hair for a mane and tail. "I earned it at the store. Mama said I could have whatever I wanted 'cause I worked so hard all week, so I got Ezra a pony. It's the best one. Don't have any scratches on it. I checked 'em all. Maybe he could play with it 'cause he can't go play with Chaucer."

Katie shyly displayed the handkerchiefs she had chosen. "He likes these kind so I got him some." She held the fine lawn cloths carefully, as if she could harm them with lesser treatment. "Mama says they come from England which is a long way away -- all the way around the world. They got posies on the corners." She pointed to the little design. "I like posies."

Billy frowned. "I don't have anything to bring but I wanted to see him just the same."

JD smiled at the three, and adjusted his sling. "Well now, Ezra's sure gonna like these things, but he's just not feelin' so good yet. Maybe he'll be better tomorrow. He needs to rest easy for a spell. You kids can be awful loud and Ezra just ain't up to it." He nodded toward the nearby clinic window. The window was shut, against the noise of the street.

"I'll be quiet," Katie whispered. "I won't make any sound."

Paul and Billy both nodded their head, their lips sealed and their eyes searching JD's for approval.

JD sighed and squatted down beside them. "I'm sorry, but he's just too sick right now. If you want, I can bring these nice presents up to him…"

Paul shook his head violently, clutching the clever little pony to his chest and, with his mouth still tightly shut, stepped back.

"No thank you, JD," Katie said, her voice so low that the young man could barely hear it. The two Potter children tiptoed away down the boardwalk, carefully clasping their gifts.

Billy turned to JD and said, "They gave up their candy money so they could get somethin' for Ezra. I think they want to give it to him their-own-selves. What's the point of givin' something to someone if you can't see him enjoy it?" And then he headed after his friends, with the same quiet tread.

JD sighed as he watched them walk away. He was just turning to go when a large woman suddenly stepped into his path, forcing him to a standstill. He gasped in surprise.

"Mr. Dunne!" Mrs. Combe from the restaurant greeted.

"Yes, ma'am," JD nodded to the matronly woman, touching the brim of his hat. He tried to regain his composure from her sudden appearance. He found he was breathing hard and sweating. Dang, he thought, that woman could scare a man. "Can I help you?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Mr. Dunne, would you please let Mr. Jackson know that I've got a whole mess of pecans ready."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I got them in this morning and I'm just waitin'."

"Yes, ma'am." JD paused, but Mrs. Combe nodded and then turned to go. JD puzzled and then asked, "I'm sorry, ma'am, what are you waitin' for?"

She stopped and looked at Dunne as if he were a simpleton. She smiled condescendingly and said, "The pie, lad. Mr. Standish will be wantin' some pie when he's feelin' better. I don't aim to make it too soon because I know how things disappear, but I don't want Gloria sneaking in one of her pumpkin pies before I've had a chance."

JD frowned. "I don't know about that."

"Gloria is always bragging about her pumpkin, but it's nowhere near as good as my pecan. Knowing her, she's probably already baking one with no regard if it's the right time yet or not. Me, I have the common decency to get approval first. So, Mr. Dunne, I'm letting you know. I only ask that you come to me first once he's ready to eat something a little special. I'll send Mabel over with one right away."

JD sighed. "Gee, Mrs. Combe, I'm not sure about that. He still ain't feelin' too good so…"

Mrs. Combe's smile fell. "Oh the poor dear, still so sick. It's been days now."

"He got hurt pretty bad."

"Still," Mrs. Combe's lip filled out in a pout. "Pie…." And she headed back to her restaurant.

JD smiled to himself as he watched her bustle across the street. Even before the Clarion hit the street, people had been stepping forward, inquiring about Ezra, expressing their good wishes, saying that they were glad he was back, asking about what they could do for him. After the story was published, the inquiries only increased. The regulators could hardly walk down the street without being accosted.

Even those detractors that had voiced their concerns earlier, had changed their tunes. Everyone, with a few exceptions, was suddenly on the gambler's side, ready to support him, quick to mention that each of them had been behind him through everything.

JD shrugged, unable to understand some people, as he headed into the saloon. He spotted Nathan and Josiah eating at one table, and joined them. "The kids were askin' about Ezra," JD said as he sat. "Wanted to know when they could see him."

Nathan sighed. "I don't know, JD. He's just not up to that right now. I think he'd scare 'em if they went up there. He looks like hell and don't want to talk to no one."

JD nodded unhappily. "And Mrs. Combe wanted to know when she should bake up a pecan pie."

Josiah smiled, remembering how Ezra always brightened at the mention of Mrs. Combe's pecan pies. He recalled the dinners they had shared together at her restaurant. The proprietress would come by after they'd finished their plates and ask them if they wanted dessert. Ezra would raise an eyebrow and that told Mrs. Combe everything she needed to know... 'only if it's your pecan pie'. She also was known for delicious apple dumplings and lemon cake, but Ezra would have nothing to do with either sweet -- it was pie or nothing.

"He just don't care about anything," Nathan said with a sigh. "Mrs. Potter sent up one of hers earlier and he didn't even look at it."

Josiah shook his head. "He's got no spirit whatsoever. It's as if he's not even trying to get better."

"He's breathing better, but that fever of his is something fierce. Not high, but I just can't get him to lick it. I don't know why he ain't improving," Nathan commented. "He's got every reason to. He takes anything I give him. I've never seen him more… well... complacent." Nathan grimaced and banged down his mug. "Don't know why that doesn't make me happier."

JD nodded. "I read him that story Mary printed, but he didn't seem to care. I don't know if he heard a word of it, but he thanked me when I was done readin'."

Nathan's gaze caught JD's bandaged arm. "How's your arm doin'? We should probably check it later today."

"It's okay." JD self-consciously pulled on the sling. Ezra and Buck got hurt a lot worse than he did. There was no reason to fuss about this small wound. Nathan didn't fuss about Vin's nick… why should he be so concerned about this one? "It ain't nothin'." It ached, but Ezra was in a lot worse shape. He touched the bandage and remembered the time when he had been shot in the gut, remembered when he had been knifed, when he'd been beaten by the Nichols brothers. He'd gotten better after those incidents. Hurt like hell, but he'd gotten better. Ezra would have to get better, too.

"You find out what happened to those crates yet?" JD asked to change the subject. "You know, all the belongings that he had boxed up and sent to him in Ridge City.

Josiah rolled his eyes. "Ezra still can't remember what happened to them. He recalls receiving the boxes, but doesn't know where they are now. We sent out a telegram to see if they were stored anywhere logical under his name, but no one could locate them."

"Tried using the names Smith and Simpson too. Anything with initials 'ES'," Nathan added. "No luck. Probably got a passel of other names he uses though. At least we found his tack box at Creel's old camp. His other stuff wasn't there." 

The camp had been searched the day after the round-up of Creel's men and nothing of note had been found. Apparently Creel was very careful with anything that might have been noted as evidence. The lawmen of Ridge City had thought they'd found a gold mine when they located Creel's safety-deposit box at the bank, but it contained only money, some jewelry and a Jules Verne novel.

"Ah dang," JD mumbled. "I wanted to get his room all set up again so he'd be able to go back to it soon. Wish we knew what happened to his stuff. It don't seem right that Ezra's home and all his personal things are all boxed up somewhere." JD kicked at the leg of the table in frustration. "Thought maybe it'd make him feel better to know that his home was put back together, that he had somewhere to go." He looked up at the others. "Everyone needs someplace to go."

 

Part 23:

Ezra was aware of the passing of time. He heard the clock tick by the seconds and every 'tock' seemed to nail him tighter to the bed. He blinked unhappily at the ceiling, waiting.

How much time had passed? He wasn't sure. He was only aware that it passed him. It was night and it was day and then night came again and again. The words still haunted his dreams, echoing through his mind. He'd have to heed them soon. He'd have to go.

He'd been awake for some time, listening. The room was quiet, except for the ticking. He closed his eyes slowly and exhaled. He'd only have to wait for a little more time to pass, wait until he was feeling a bit better, and then he'd go. He had to go.

Vin had told him that Chaucer had been returned, and the saddle, too. The tack box had made it back yesterday, so at least Chaucer could be properly attended to. He'd just have to walk to the livery and he'd be gone. He'd start a new life in a new place -- away from these strange desires to be a lawman. It had all been a ruse, hadn't it? -- all a parlor game? He was never meant to lead that sort of life. He was raised to be a gambler, a conman, a deserter, a traitor. It was time he returned to that life.

Lord, he didn't want to go. He'd been happy, had felt as if he truly belonged, that he was part of something good and worthwhile. He had enjoyed the friendships, the appealing warmth that came from helping others – but it was all for naught, wasn't it? Nobody wanted him here.

It was time that he started moving again. Already, it was easier to breathe. What was holding him back? Tentatively, he lifted his hand and tried to roll onto his side. It was harder than he thought. He just couldn't get his weight shifted enough to pull himself over. Every movement tugged at his damaged side, taking his breath away.

"Wait," he heard a voice near him. "Lemmie give you a hand, Ez." It was Vin.

The tracker careful helped him to move onto his side. Pain grabbed at him and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. "That better, Ez?" Vin's voice was soft, friendly as he moved from him. "Your back gettin' sore? Let me get some pillows set up so you can lean back on 'em." And he rearranged the pillows and settled Ezra on them. "That okay?"

"Yes," Ezra responded. "Thank you, Vin."

"Glad to see awake and not tossin'."

Had he been tossing? Lord, had he spoken aloud? He hoped he hadn't revealed his plan. They'd only try to thwart it. Why? He couldn't quite come up with the answer to that question. Why would they stop him?

The tracker sat down on the chair beside him and gazed back with sorrowful eyes. Ezra realized that he must have caused some definite trouble to make Vin so mournful. He'd leave soon and thus remove that problem.

"You feelin' hungry or anythin'?" Vin asked.

"No, Vin," Ezra replied.

"Nate'll be back. I sent him off to get some lunch for himself. He'll want to see how you're healin' when he gets back up here," Vin told him. "Josiah's been here all day, too. I finally got him to go so that he'd keep an eye on Nate. Thought maybe we could talk a bit before they got back, huh?"

Talk? There was no more time for talk. "M'tired, Vin."

"I know," Vin sighed. He pressed the palm of his hand against Ezra's forehead and frowned. "Ain't kicked that fever yet." Ezra gazed back at him complacently.

"It doesn't want to leave me," Ezra replied.

"Don't worry, Ez. We'll get this licked." Standish was still so warm -- not a dangerous high heat, but a constant and relentless fever. Ezra had been muttering and tossing earlier and Vin had caught bits and pieces of what Ezra said. He had seen the despair etched in his friend's pale face. He had tried to wake him, but the laudanum kept him down. 

"Maybe, you'd like some company, huh? A new face maybe? I hear some of the folks in the town would like to see ya."

Ezra grimaced. No, he couldn't face these people. What would they say? "No, Vin. I'm… I'm not up to it," he replied softly.

Again Vin frowned. It wasn't like Ezra to be so sullen and withdrawn. If he could just lick this fever, if he just could feel a bit better, then things would be okay. Ezra seemed stuck in this relentless place, unable to improve. The worst of it was that he seemed so hopeless. Ezra always fought when he was ill. He hated being stuck in the clinic, hated the weakness that came with sickness. This was the first time that Vin had ever seen Ezra so utterly given up to his illness. It was almost as if he preferred it this way.

"Okay, no one need come," Vin responded. "There's lots of folk that'd like to talk to you though."

'Yes,' Ezra thought, 'I'm sure they do. They need not worry. I won't be here much longer. As soon as I'm strong enough, I'll go.' 

Not getting a response, Vin tried a different question. "You figured out where you put those boxes yet?"

Again, they were asking about the boxes. "I can't quite say, Vin," he replied. The crates were safely stored under an assumed name. They'd stay put until he sent for them. He'd only need to get a little better and he'd go. Once he reached his new destination, he'd send word to forward them -- after a slight alteration in contents. 

It would be simple. He'd start over. But he was so tired. His arms didn't want to move and the fever tugged at him, keeping him down. He felt even weaker as he contemplated leaving. He gazed back at Vin, sorry that he'd have to leave a friend – all his friends -- but it would be for the best. It would be better for everyone, wouldn't it?

"Wish you could 'member," Vin said with a sigh. He nodded to Wilmington, asleep nearby. 

After a moment, Vin smiled as he remembered something. "He took up your room while you was gone. Brung a few of his lady friends there. I think they like the feather bed an awful lot." He grinned, expecting a look of horror and disgust from the gambler.

Instead Ezra just closed his eyes.

Vin tried again, "You mayn't be able to get 'im outta there if you don't do it soon."

"It doesn't matter," Ezra muttered quietly.

Vin sat up stiffly in his chair. "What'd you say?"

"He can keep it."

Vin bent over the gambler. "You don't want that skirt-chasin' son-of-a-bitch in your bed, do you? Hell, he could have crabs or the clap and you wouldn't want that sorta stuff near ya." Come on! he demanded, give me some sort of a reaction! But Ezra didn't open his eyes. A noise behind him made Vin turn.

Wilmington was looking back at him, blinking the sleep from his eyes. "What'zat, Vin?" he muttered. "You talkin' about me again?"

Vin responded, "Didja hear what he said, Buck? He don't care what you been doin' in his room."

"Brought a couple of the ladies there while he was gone." Buck yawned and stretched and grimaced again when he felt his injured leg. "Just the nicer type, mind you. They appreciate a comfy bed. I just brought them there so it'd look like I was usin' the room."

"The fool said you could have it!" Tanner glanced back at Ezra who seemed to be listening in a disinterested way. "Said you could take the bed."

"Now, you know," Buck said, yawning again. "Ezra probably wants a new one, seein' that I took liberties there. Probably thinks it ain't proper anymore."

"That it, Ez?" Vin asked.

Ezra mumbled, "I'm so tired, Vin. Let me be." And he fell back to sleep, or at least the semblance of it.

"Come on, Ez. I ain't done talkin'," Vin pleaded disconsolately, as he shook Ezra's shoulder, but Ezra didn't open his eyes again.

"What'd you call me, Tanner?" Buck said, wrestling himself into a sitting position. "Seem to remember somethin' ill bein' spoken of me."

Vin sat heavily in his chair and watched Buck yawn and stretch and frowned as his leg pulled painfully. "Don't have the clap, Vin," he muttered as he rubbed his face. "Mighty poor way of talkin' to a man when he's asleep. They say names don't hurt…but …ouch!" Buck shook his head and smiled to show that he was just kidding the tracker, understanding the reasons behind Vin's outburst.

Vin looked from Buck to Ezra and wondered.

 

Part 24:

Chris walked down the street with a slow tread. He had just left Nathan and the healer gave him the same bleak news. Ezra hadn't improved. He should be getting better, but instead he just stayed in the same miserable state of fever and weakness. It just didn't seem right.

'Why aren't you getting stronger, Ezra,' Larabee thought as he walked down the street. For five days, Ezra languished in the clinic -- pale and weak and sick. The wound was healing nicely; his breathing was much better; he took whatever remedy Nathan forced on him, but still he gained no ground.

It just wasn't right. There was nothing fair about this. At least Creel and his men would be tried soon. The judge would arrive and maybe they'd be able to rid themselves of that set of thorns. His hands clenched at the thought of Max Creel, anxious to see the end of that man.

He wished he had something that could definitely put Creel behind bars for good, to see him to the gallows. He hadn't been able to hold a long enough conversation with Ezra to get all the facts, and so far all they had was Ezra's word. He wasn't sure if that was going to be good enough for Judge Travis, and that alone was reason to be annoyed. 'Ezra's word must be worth something,' he thought.

Larabee trod down the boardwalk with a heavy gait, hoping that they soon were able to break Ezra out of this state. He seemed to sink deeper into a mire every day and if they weren't able to pull him back soon, Larabee was afraid they'd lose him.

'Why ain't you fightin', Ezra,' Chris thought as he treaded the boardwalk. 'Why ain't you getting better?'

"I see you still got Mary Travis printing up whatever you please," Mr. Conklin muttered as Larabee walked passed.

Chris stopped and backtracked until he was beside the respected townsman. "Excuse me?" the gunslinger asked, his voice displaying his disgust with the man.

Conklin held a copy of the Clarion. "She didn't even bother to ask me what I knew about this, and I have plenty to say." He pointed to the story she had written about Ezra and Creel.

"And what do you have worth sayin'?" Chris had a bad feeling about what would come next.

"I saw Standish and those outlaws in Ridge City. I saw plenty there."

"Yeah," Larabee prompted, bringing Conklin under his glare.

Conklin stuck out his chin. "I told Standish what I thought about him. How I thought he was a disgrace and we were glad to be rid of him. I let him know exactly what the town of Four Corners thought."

"You spoke for the town?" Larabee questioned.

Conklin sneered. "Yes sir, told him that we always figured he'd come to no good. Told him that we were all thankful that he left, that we celebrated it. Told him that you and the others were glad he was gone, that you were better off without him. Told him exactly what we thought." 

Conklin's eyes went wide as Larabee snatched him by the collar and shoved him into the wall.

Chris growled through his teeth. "You spread your own filthy opinion on everyone?"

Conklin let loose a frightened little "Eeep!" as Larabee lifted him from the ground. His hands tried to pry Larabee's from his jacket. "I was just saying what I thought…"

Larabee returned, "You spoke for the whole town? What else did you have to say?" He shoved the man against the wall again, trying to remember that Conklin was an elderly man and would break easily.

"I said that nobody wanted him around here, that we were glad to see him gone, that you were glad!" Conklin was babbling now, his eyes wide with fear. "I told that none of you 'lawmen' wanted him here." He saw Larabee's eyes widen and he added, "I told him that we agreed with you! We agreed with everything you said when you cut him loose!" He tried a smile, thinking that the statement would save him.

Instead, he saw a look of regret pass over Larabee's face. The gunslinger let loose his hold and dropped Conklin, then took off toward the clinic.

Angrily, the well-respected and long-term resident of the town straightened his clothing. "I said that I agreed with you," he muttered.

 

Part 25:

Tanner saw Larabee storming his way. He caught the gunslinger by the arm and stopped him before he made it to the stairs.

Chris gave him a vivid glance, growling, "I just talked to Conklin. That son of a bitch told Ezra that the whole town believed what I said. I got to set Ezra straight."

"Conklin?" Vin sighed. "That'd explain things a bit. I figure ol' Ez has gotten his ears filled a bit too often lately."

"Dammit!" Chris cursed loudly, drawing looks from some of the people on the street, sending them scurrying. One man almost ran into JD.

Vin paused a moment before he added, "Ezra's fixin' on leavin'."

"What?" JD's voice joined the conversation. He strode up to them in alarm. "Leavin'? No! How could he?"

"What do you mean, Tanner?" Larabee added.

"He asked after his horse and saddle. First thing out of his mouth when I come back," Vin informed them.

"Aw, that's just about Chaucer. You know he'd be concerned about his horse," JD shrugged off the idea.

Vin continued, "Won't tell us where all is stuff is stored."

"He doesn't remember, Vin," JD countered.

"Seems to remember everythin' else. Some things he remembers too clear." Tanner sighed. "Told Buck that he could keep the room. Didn't care about the bed."

"Oh, gosh," JD exclaimed. "I can't see Ezra givin' up his bed." Chris just increased his frown.

Vin sighed. "Said a few things when he was dreamin'."

JD looked crushed. "What sort of things?"

"Nothin' good. Pretty much thinks he's no better than crap, that nobody wants him around."

Larabee nodded tightly and said, "I'll get this settled. At least he's too sick to get around yet."

"Maybe," Vin started and then seemed to think a minute before continuing, "Ya wonder why he hasn't gotten any better? He'll usually do anythin' he can to get out of that clinic -- fight Nathan the whole way. He hates t'be sick."

"He's awful hurt, Vin," JD answered.

Chris smiled slightly. "He just doesn't have it in him right now, Vin."

"When he gets t'feelin' better, he's fixin' to leave," Vin stated and then added. "But, it seems to me, he doesn't really want to go."

Chris closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead as he came to the realization. "That stubborn fool."

"What?" JD asked, looking between the two for explanation. "What d'ya mean?"

Chris looked toward JD and stated, "He's convinced himself that he's gonna leave when he gets better… so he's just not going to improve. -- so he doesn't have to go."

"Oh, no," JD responded, knowing that Ezra would do pretty much anything that he set his mind to.

"Damn him." Larabee kicked at the wood of the boardwalk.

"We gotta do somethin' about that, Vin, Chris," JD turned a pleading look on them. "We can't let him go on thinkin' like that. Hell, he'll end up dead if he don't try to get better. He looks half-dead now. And if he does get well, he'll leave town. We can't let that happen."

"I ain't gonna let it," Chris declared and started toward the clinic.

"Chris," JD cried. "I gotta do somethin' to help. What can I do?"

Chris regarded the young sheriff and said, "You'll think of somethin'." He started up the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

 

Part 26:

Buck and Josiah flinched when the door slammed open and both men reflexively grabbed their guns to meet the intruder.

Buck smiled and shook his head when he recognized Chris at the door. "You shaved a year or two offa my life there, Larabee," he muttered, returning his gun to the table.

Josiah chuckled and glanced to Ezra to make sure he was okay. The gambler just gazed lethargically toward the newcomer. He didn't seemed startled at all by the sudden entrance -- that in itself was a reason to be worried.

"Buck," Larabee started tersely. "How're you feelin'."

"Full of piss and vinegar," Wilmington said with a wide grin. He was already dressed and ready to depart, but hadn't gotten around to it yet. Nathan had split a pair of pants, so that one leg exposed his bandaged wound, allowing for easy access. "Nate says I can get goin' soon, so…"

"Josiah." Chris nodded to the preacher. "Why don't you get Buck out of here."

Josiah tried to form an opposition, but saw the intense look on Larabee's face. "Buck," Sanchez said as he stood. "It looks like you're in for a change in scenery."

"Damn it, Chris, I wanted to stay and…" Buck started, but he too noted the Larabee glare. "Best be goin' then."

Josiah helped Buck to his feet and the preacher steered him over to Ezra's bed before they headed out. "Hey, hoss," Buck said as he balanced on one foot. "You start gettin' better now. I ain't gonna be able to handle those stairs for a while so I won't be able to get back up here. You'd best be the one comin' on down soon."

"Goodbye, Buck," Ezra said softly. His statement had a note of finality about it. "Thank you for your company."

"Now, Ezra," Buck continued. "I'll be waitin' for ya. Don't you disappoint me none."

Ezra sighed in response, looking resigned.

"I'll be back, Ezra," Josiah promised, and then looked to Larabee. "After Chris is done with you." 

Sanchez helped Buck hobble to the door and then the two gracelessly made their way out of the room.

Chris stood a moment beside the bed, looking down at Standish. Ezra looked so wasted away, so pale and tired, worn out like an old rag. How am I going to fix this situation? Larabee thought. How could mere words fix this? It's words that did this – the bullet was just the capper. I can't take back what I said. Anything I say now will just fall flat. 

Ezra had been run to the point of exhaustion, living on little sleep and poor food in a hostile environment, listening to nothing but vitriol. It was no wonder he was sick, no wonder he'd fallen into this horrible depression.

Chris pulled the chair beside the bed and sat down heavily. "Damnit, Ezra," he muttered and heard Ezra sigh. He seemed to be expecting such a response. Larabee grimaced. "You know, Ezra, we were just playin' parts."

Ezra smiled thinly. "I'm well aware of the situation, sir. I have played parts before. Some I have taken more to heart than others."

"You know that I didn't mean anything that I said."

"Of course not, Mr. Larabee. It was all for show."

What the hell was he going to say? He wanted to spit and shout and smash things -- to yell at Ezra for even considering leaving -- for believing those damn words -- for putting up with Ludlow and Creel and damned Conklin. He wanted to throw a fit over the situation Ezra'd been thrust into. He wanted to scream at him for his underhanded plot of staying sick and dying away just because he didn't want to go -- for not fighting. What the hell are you thinking?. He wanted to shake the damn con man until he rattled some sense into him.

As he gazed back at Ezra's defeated expression, he knew that that'd be the absolute wrong way to handle this. Ezra slowly looked away as if it took too much strength to even gaze in Larabee's direction, as if he hadn't the fortitude to face him.

Chris leaned forward in the chair, and said nothing immediately. Ezra blinked at the ceiling, waiting as a prisoner waits for his execution.

Chris spoke softly, "This was wrong from the start. I made a bad decision. Said all the wrong things. Should've kept a watch on you at least. Should've had the sense to pull you out of that situation."

"But…" Ezra turned his head toward Larabee, his eyes wide. "Pulled me out? But, wasn't I doin' well? What did I do wrong? I gained the goal we sought. I performed my task satisfactorily, didn't I? I did everything I could… I tried, I truly did. Wasn't it good enough?"

Chris was taken aback. The lost look on Ezra's face spoke volumes. Standish was expecting an admonishment. He offered the questions, seeing nothing but a slap in the face as a response. 

"Please," Ezra continued, "Let me know how I failed."

"Hell, you didn't fail, Ezra," Chris finally responded and saw the relief in Ezra's face. "My God, you did a good job -- exceptional." He laid a hand on Ezra's shoulder. "It was me that screwed up -- not you." He could see the unguarded relief, the almost joyful look on Ezra's face. Was it so simple? Was that all he needed? A little praise?

"You did it right, Ezra. You saved the town. The people are grateful to you for that."

"But I have heard from a reliable source…" Ezra started, but was quickly cut off.

"And if you listen to a bastard like Conklin again, Ezra, and I swear, I'll kick your ass halfway across this town," Larabee snapped angrily. Then, he added in a softer tone, "Every day that you were gone I got folks saying that I'd better give you another chance, hear your side. They were on my tail for treatin' you so bad."

Ezra looked stunned, he followed Chris with bright eyes and Larabee thought he finally saw some color return to Ezra's face. 

"They did?" Standish asked in amazement.

"Do you doubt me, Ezra?" Chris inquired sternly.

Ezra thought carefully. "No, sir," he replied.

"Don't give up on me, Ezra. I screwed up on this one and I won't accept you sufferin' anymore for it." Chris met Ezra's eyes again and reiterated. "You did a good job, Ezra."

So simple, just a little praise, a little recognition. Ezra was already sitting up slightly in his sickbed, listening intently.

"You ain't leavin'," Chris added. "These past two months just proved the fact that we need you here." Then he said, after thinking a moment, "This is your home, Ezra."

Ezra was trying to form a response when the door opened and Vin poked his head in.  
The tracker looked at the scene and smiled. "I think you'd better open the window," he said quietly. "JD got an idea and…" He shrugged.

Chris looked curiously at the tracker as JD and Nathan pushed through the door, revealing Josiah and Buck behind them. Wilmington was still leaning on the preacher, having never left the upper story.

Chris was intrigued and walked across floor. When he reached the window, he peered out cautiously, and looked puzzled for a moment. He smiled and shook his head as he opened the window, letting a fresh breeze fill the stale room.

JD hurried beside Chris and said, "It was real easy. I hardly had to do anythin' but come up with the idea."

He peeked out the window before looking back toward the bed. "Ezra," Dunne said seriously. "People 'round town have been mighty worried 'bout you. They all know now what you did to save them and they're awful thankful for that. They've been wanting to let you know. Problem was that you weren't feelin' good enough for visitors. They've been hopin' you'd be able to come downstairs soon so they could tell you personally, but you ain't been up to that either. Finally, I had this idea and I started askin' around to see if anyone was interested and they all said 'hell yes.' Not one said 'no'. They all started tellin' everyone else and it only took a few minutes before…"

"JD!" Buck called from the doorway. "Just let 'em do what they wanted to do. I can't stand here all day, dammit!"

"Let me talk, Buck," JD replied sharply and then returned his attention to Ezra. "The people from the town just wanted to welcome you home and to thank you for keepin' 'em safe. Since this whole plan was like a theatre play, what with you and Chris and all of us playin' parts and sayin' lines, I thought there was one really good way of showing everyone's appreciation."

Ezra watched in confused fascination as the young sheriff gestured out the window. Immediately following the signal, a sound arose from beyond the window, a sound that might have been mistaken for a heavy rainfall or corn popping on the fire. Ezra held his breath as the sound increased in volume…applause. 

From below the clinic's window, a crowd applauded.

He was shocked when the sound erupted near him. JD started clapping near the window, followed after a moment by Chris and then Nathan, Vin and Josiah. Buck wedged himself between Josiah and the doorway and added his own applause.

Ezra turned his bewildered look from one man to another, hearing the clapping that continued to rise from outside the window. People were hooting and stomping their feet on the boardwalk. He could hear cheering -- children's voices high, and men's voices low -- whistling and shouting. So simple a thing, really, but so powerful.

His friends, standing there in the room, met his eyes as he gazed at them. They didn't seem embarrassed at all by the display, as they cheered and added to the noise.

 

Part 27:

"Ah, here t'is," Ezra said, standing stiffly and leaving the table behind him. He could hear Nathan cursing as he caught up with the gambler.

"Ezra," Nathan complained. "You gotta move slower now, you're still healin' and this jumpin' around ain't gonna do you no good."

Ezra smiled and nodded as he pressed open the batwing doors of the saloon. He was still rather thin and pale, and a bit unsteady on his feet.

"Mr. Standish," a man said, touching the brim of his hat as passed.

"Mr. Kovak," Ezra responded in kind and the man continued on his way.

"Slow down, Ezra," Nathan admonished, coming up beside him. Two days had passed since the impromptu show of appreciation and he hovered after the gambler like a mother watching a child take its first steps.

A small group of young ladies tittered nearby and he tipped his hat to them, calling them by their names. Other townspeople nodded as they continued their paths along the boardwalk.

"Ezra! Ezra!" the Potter children, who'd been playing nearby, stormed up and came to a halt before actually knocking him down.

"Dear Katherine, Master Paul," Ezra greeted them. "I just wanted to thank you again for the wonderful gifts. The handkerchiefs are wonderful, Miss Katherine." He pulled one from his pocket and smiled. "The posies are quite charming. And my magnificent steed will keep me company once my room is set back to normal. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Ezra," Both children said in perfect and well-mannered synchronism.

"Ezra," Katie added. "Mama's been lookin' for you!"

"Mama said that she's gonna get some stuff in from San Francisco today and maybe you want to see some of it before it goes out on the shelf," Paul got off quickly.

"Excellent. I would be more than thankful to take first crack at what she has to offer." He lifted his head to watch the approaching wagon, as he carefully placed the handkerchief in his pocket again. Josiah and Chris joined them outside the saloon. "Now, please tell your dear mother that I truly appreciated the pie she sent to me. I'm certain it aided in my recovery."

The children nodded, declaring that they would tell her, and ran back to their family store. The women of the town had been doting on the gambler since he had started allowing visitors, and Nathan had little doubt that Ezra would start filling out his clothing again, very quickly, if they continued their ministrations.

Buck hobbling out of the saloon as Josiah spoke with a smile, "I see the rest of our brothers have returned." And the wagon carrying Vin and JD pulled to a stop beside them. The two had left the day before to retrieve Ezra's boxes from Ridge City. The crates could have been sent along with the next cargo wagon, but it wasn't scheduled until the end of the week and Ezra was especially eager to see their return.

"Good to have everyone back," Chris said with a nod.

"Hey, guys." JD said brightly from the wagon seat. "Buck, you'd better find a place to sit before you fall over."

"Hush up, cub!" Buck growled and leaned against the wall.

"Judge here yet?" Vin asked, looking toward Chris.

"He's due tomorrow," Chris replied.

"See you got a gallows built," Vin turned toward the wooden structure that stood ominously outside the jail.

Chris shrugged. "Figured it wouldn't hurt to show Creel what's in his near future." And Vin smiled in agreement.

"You're lookin' better, Ezra." JD hopped down from his seat. 

Standish was wavering on his unsteady legs and Nathan stood beside him, ready to catch him if he couldn't handle it any longer, but he was upright at least. 

"He'd be better off if he kept still," Nathan groused.

"Nonsense, Mr. Jackson," Ezra said pulling on his jacket lapels. "I'm feeling quite fit today." He returned his attention to the wagon. "Were you able to find them without difficulty?"

"Sure, Ez," Vin drawled. "Were right where you said. We'd best get these boxes up to your room so you can get settled again."

"Ah, yes," Ezra responded. "I believe that the room has been thoroughly aired, the mattress has been turned and all is now ready for me." He gave Buck a look before continuing, "Mr. Larabee would be rather interested in some of the contents of these parcels." He smiled disarmingly at the gunslinger. "I discovered several items that should have been sold with the rest of Creel's stolen merchandise -- a few notable odds-and-ends that ended up in my pocket somehow. Also, I seem to have acquired Mr. Creel's personal journal." 

He shrugged as much as his injury would allow, looking a little bewildered. "For reasons unknown, it became confused with my copy of Around the World in Eighty Days. An unfortunate accident for I may never discover if Mr. Fogg succeeded with his wager. But, my loss is your gain." And he smiled again at Larabee.

Smug bastard, Larabee thought, returning the grin. "I think I can make use of that little mishap," Larabee returned. "Thanks."

Ezra waved away Chris' last comment and turned his attention back to the boxes. "Please, let's get these settled, gentlemen. And be careful with them. I'd help if I could, but…" he touched his bandaged side. "You understand, don't you, Mr. Jackson?"

Nathan shook his head and tried to hide a smirk.

Josiah frowned when he saw the crates. "They're in different boxes," he said, remembering the containers that had left Four Corners.

"These are higher quality," Ezra replied. He turned his head and added, "Except for that one. It definitely isn't mine." A rude crate sat at the back of the wagon, with a blanket thrown over it.

"Oh," Vin said and gave JD a wink. "Picked up a special delivery for Conklin."

"What the hell you doin', boys?" Buck demanded, obviously flabbergasted.

"Honestly," Josiah added. "I see no reason to do the man any favors." 

"Conklin can rot in hell for all I care," Chris spat out. "Throw that on the trash heap and forget about it."

JD and Vin both looked astonished. "But, Chris," JD said in a low voice. "We wouldn't want Baby to get hurt."

"Baby?" Buck and Josiah asked at once. Josiah and Nathan both looked puzzled and Chris hadn't lost his angry expression.

Ezra moved away from Nathan and leaned over the box. He sniffed experientially and then stepped back quickly, chuckling. "Baby, I take it, is some form of polecat?"

"Shhhh!" JD chided.

"You boys caught a skunk?" Buck hissed out, stepping further from the box.

"Vin got her drunk. That's how we got her so easy," JD told them.

"Skunks like beer," Vin said matter-of-factly.

"Just had to get her nice and happy, then put her awful gently in that there box. She's been sleepin'."

"Figured we'd spring her on Conklin in a bit, when she starts comin' 'round." Vin shrugged. "Seems a mighty poor way to treat a skunk, but Baby will get over it. The other skunk will stink for a bit."

Nathan rolled his eyes and added, "I just hope he doesn't hurt himself opening that skunk-box."

Ezra looked astonished as everyone laughed, and voiced, "Lord help him."

"The Lord is about the only one who would," Josiah assured. "Not many folks in this town will stand up for the man anymore. Seems a bit less friendly a place for him."

Ezra smiled widely, looking like his old self again. "Gentlemen," he said, "Let's get ready for the festivities! Perhaps there's a way I may lay odds on the outcome. A wager might be forecoming?"

Vin gave Ezra a slap on the back and said, "We'll get you settled first, then get ready for the show."

"Please, it would be quite… satisfactory to be settled in my room once more. I'll unlock the door." He walked away, a bit stiffly, a little slower than usual.

"Good to see him feelin' better," Vin as he carefully pulled the first box to the tailgate, keeping it far from Baby's crate. He rubbed his scraped arm and winced. "'Fraid I won't be able to help with the toting." And the tracker turned his gaze on JD.

JD moaned slightly as he slumped against the wagon. "Yeah, my arm's been achin' a bit on the drive home. Seems you all will have to deal with the boxes."

Larabee snaked out an arm, grabbing Buck by the elbow. He shrugged his apology to the remaining two.

Josiah sighed and Nathan looked suspicious, but both grabbed one of the boxes, lifting them gently off the wagon bed as they threw glances at the innocuous crate, and then started to lug them after the cardsharp.

"What all is in these things?" Nathan gasped as he struggled. "I didn't think jackets weighed so much."

"But Mr. Jackson," Ezra said, pausing at the bar, and taking the opportunity to lean against it and catch his breath. "I needed to transport my library as well."

"Library," Jackson grumbled, doing his best to keep the big box moving. Josiah grinned and tried to look as if his own box was equally weighted. The library was only so large, and the Standish wardrobe was extensive. All of those fancy shirts and blazers had to be packed somewhere.

Buck smiled. "I think we got him back now," he commented gladly.

"Transferred his stuff into new boxes. He was makin' sure we couldn't find them," Chris commented. "Where'd he have them hid?"

JD chuckled. "They were right at the station. He'd paid a porter there to keep 'em until the end of the month."

Chris shook his head, knowing full well that they had sent inquiries to the train station earlier. "So, what name did he use?

JD and Vin laughed and started to follow the others. Vin had to give JD a shove to remind him to cradle his hurt arm.

"What's so funny?" Buck demanded, hobbling along after them with Larabee for support.

"You'd never guess," Vin said.

"Not in a million years," JD included.

"Well, I can't exactly knock you off your feet right now, boy, so just tell me," Buck grumbled.

JD snickered as he said, "Chris Larabee."

"What?" Both Buck and Chris responded.

Vin grinned. "He had your name on those boxes, cowboy."

Chris fell back and Buck stayed with him as JD and Vin continued onward, trying to look as pained as possible. Nathan and Josiah were patiently following Ezra up the stairs, and Standish was taking his time. He paused and seemed to admire a painting that graced the stairway, leaning heavily on the banister, as Nathan struggled silently with his load.

"Why the hell did he use my name?" Chris asked.

"Maybe he figured you wouldn't find 'em too quickly that way." Buck sighed as he struggled to keep his weight on his good leg. "Maybe he figured they'd send the boxes back to you when the money ran out. Or maybe he was just waitin' for you to figure it out. He did want you to get that journal and whatever-the-hell-else he stole."

"He's a damn fool!" Chris complained as he followed the others to the stairs.

"Yeah," Buck responded. "But he's our damn fool."

Chris sighed. "And what would we do without him?"

THE END


End file.
